#she can shoot me with her rifle and i’d thank her

[chocmarss]

Pav-Ti Tano, the woman that you are

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d.| 14

Don Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Canon violence. Fucking FLUFF

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the love. This is it! This isnt the end I lied Jk. Listen to Getaway Car if you’re inclined <3333

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Way

There was no time to treat her wound, leaving it exposed to the elements as they tore through the capital city of Senex. The speeder bike was easily commandeered from someone at the party, allowing Din and his princess to escape as Han and Leia distracted Calisto and Gideon. Several party goers joined the fight as well, supporting their princess and her attempts to escape. But many evacuated, allowing for the two to sneak out with the crowd.

The Crest was not far off, allowing for them to get a headstart on their getaway. But Din knew better than to assume they were safe; they were far from it. Storm troopers were hot on their trail, though he had the advantage of the Crest being hidden away. They were together, however, and that’s all Din cared about as they skid to a stop outside the Crest. With the ship’s hatch opened and ready for them, he hopped off the bike and took her good hand, leading her into the ship. 

“We need to get off this planet,” Din announced, flipping switches in the cockpit of the ship.

“Really? I thought we’d get married in the fields,” she retorted, sliding into her own seat. 

He rolled his eyes under the helmet, handing Grogu to her once she was strapped into the seat. “We can’t go back to Sorgan; it’ll be the first place they look.”

“Or Nevarro –I’m certain your bounty hunter friend wouldn’t be thrilled with us.”

“We need to find the other Mandalorians,” he settled, starting the engines of the ship. 

Blaster fire suddenly rained down on the ship, and she ducked down over Grogu to protect him. Din looked over at her, frowning deeply as he pushed the ship to take off, but the damn thing was too old for it’s own good sometimes. The engines were too cool, and with Calisto and Gideon’s men trying to keep them down –Din had to take the offensive.

“You know how to fly?” He asked, standing from his seat.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Kind of. My father tried teaching me, but our ships were newer –,”

“Doesn’t matter,” he pointed out, motioning at each control and explaining the purpose of each one. She watched closely, moving out of her seat and into his. If their lives weren’t in danger, it would have been a hell of a sight. “When I say, you need to get us into the air.”

“What are you doing?” She demanded as he started climbing down the ladder. “Din, you cannot take on a squad by yourself.”

“Didn’t you tell Calisto I’d like my odds?”

“I was trying to scare her. Not encourage you.”

He waved her off, climbing down into the hull. Opening the armory, Din pulled out several grenades and attached them to his belt then took out his pulse rifle, looking it over for a moment. Then, he opened the hatch on the roof of the Crest, climbing up and keeping his feet hooked into the ladder. 

“Can you hear me?” He asked through the comms, into the cockpit.

“Uh, I can, yes,” she responded, though her voice sounded muffled through the speakers. “The engine is still heating up. Please be careful, Din.”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to lower himself against the metal of his ship and take aim. As the chaos of the troopers shooting raged around him, he tried to remain calm and focused. Din knew that his skills were the only thing standing between them getting out of Senex alive. As he fired shot after shot, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was what he was born to do - to fight, to protect, to survive. And he would not stop until everyone trying to hurt his clan was taken down.

“How’s that engine looking?” He asked as a trooper dropped onto the roof of the ship and swung a boot into Din’s face. He grabbed their ankle and dropped them though, shoving a knife into their leg and shoving them off the roof.

“Almost there,” she promised as the ship began to shake with preparation. “I’d hold onto something if I were you.”

Din couldn’t, given the situation at hand, but he appreciated the concern as he aimed at the speeder bike that was barreling towards him. One calculated shot later and the bike –and two others –were blown up and the Crest was taking off into the air. He thanked the Maker as he dropped back into the ship, shutting the hatch, and rushed back into the cockpit.

Grogu was sitting in her seat, hands in the air as she pushed the throttle forward and the ship took off over the capital city. Din hovered behind her, hand gripping the back of the seat as he pushed various buttons and prepared to exit the atmosphere. But other new ships were appearing around them; Imperial ships that he was certain belonged to Gideon. 

Din's heart sank as he realized how outnumbered they really were. While he knew a clean getaway was a long shot, he should have known better than to assume Gideon wouldn’t have brought an army of his own. He quickly assessed their situation, trying to come up with a plan of action.

"We’ve got company,” he said, his voice low and urgent in her ear. 

"I see them," she replied, her hands moving deftly over the controls as she tried to evade the incoming ships. 

Din activated the ship's weapons systems, ready to defend themselves if necessary. He knew that they were outnumbered, but he wasn't going down without a fight. As they flew through the sky, lasers from the Imperial ships streaked past them, narrowly missing their ship.

"We can’t fight them, Din,” she pointed out as he took control of the ship’s blasters. 

“We don’t need to fight them if we can distract them,” he offered as reassurance, turning the ships guns on the Imperial fleet that was catching up to them.

But the ship needed to gain more speed if they were going to jump into hyperspace, and he needed it to last long enough against Gideon and Calisto’s forces to do that. Din gritted his teeth as he fired the ship's weapons at the incoming Imperial fleet. He knew that their best chance of survival was to distract them long enough to make the jump to hyperspace. But he also knew that their weapons weren't strong enough to hold off the Imperial forces forever.

"We need to go faster," he said, his eyes scanning the control panel for any way to increase their speed. "Can you give me more power to the engines?"

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, looking over the panel herself with a deep frown. “Din, I-I don’t know if we’ll get out of here alive.”

“We will,” he promised, returning his attention to the fleet that was on top of them.

“Din, tell me the vows,” she insisted, her hand reaching out to grab his arm.

“No,” he snapped, looking down at her for a moment. “No, not like this.”

Din felt a surge of energy as the ship's engines roared to life, propelling them forward at an incredible speed –the engines were finally catching up to the urgency that engulfed the cockpit. While the Imperial ships were caught off guard by their sudden burst of speed, Din took the chance to pick off a few more of the fleet.

But the Imperial fleet was relentless, and their ships were quickly closing in on them. Din knew that they had to make the jump to hyperspace soon, or it would be too late.

“Tell me the vows,” she demanded again as a blast hit the side of the ship, too close to the engines for comfort. She yanked on the exposed part of his arm, drawing his attention to her. Her eyes were watery with unshed tears. “Marry me, Din Djarin.”

The dawning realization that they might actually not make it hit him hard, and he couldn’t argue. “Repeat after me, okay?” Din remained focused on firing the weapons as he spoke. “Mhi solus tome, we are one when together”

“Mhi solus tome,” she repeated, eyes locked on the ships that she was maneuvering around. “We are one when together.”

“Mhi solus dar'tome,” he continued, bracing against the controls as another round of shots hit the ship. “We are one when parted.”

“Mhi solus dar'tome,” she closed her eyes for a moment as Grogu cried out, as if he knew something was going wrong; that they were on more danger than ever before. “We are one when parted.”

“Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” Din concluded, looking down at her finally as one of the engines stuttered. “We will share all, we will raise warriors."

“Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” she finished, looking up at him now as well. “We will share all, we will raise warriors.”

Din couldn’t pinpoint why it felt right to marry her right there, in the middle of battle, but it did. Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins, or the realization that life was precious and fleeting. Maybe it was the way she stood by his side, fearless and determined. Whatever the reason, Din knew he couldn't let her go.

“Kiss me, Din.”

His heart almost broke, realizing now that they were married –and very well could be dying at any second. But he nodded, finally abandoning his post at the weapons control. His hands here on his helmet, hesitant for just a moment, before he lifted it and set it down. Decades of wearing the helmet, not showing a single living thing what he looked like –all abandoned now as he faced his wife for the first time. 

She stared up at him with wide eyes, the tears finally falling as she reached up to touch his cheek. Her touch was warm against his face, where her fingers stroked the scars that had settled there. Blood still caked her nails, but her wound was wrapped and he had to look away. He could see the worry in her eyes, but he also saw the trust and love that she held for him. He leaned in slowly, savoring the moment, before finally pressing his lips against hers. It was a gentle kiss, but it held a depth of emotion that words could not express. For a moment, the fight around them faded away, and all that existed was the two of them, locked in a tender embrace.

But the ship still rocked from gunfire, reminding them that the end felt too close. They pulled away from one another just barely, foreheads resting against one another. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as her eyes traced over his face, taking in everything she could. He had never felt so exposed, yet so liberated. It was as if he had shed a heavy burden that he had been carrying for so long. He reached up and cupped her cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to express, but the words eluded him. Instead, he simply leaned in and kissed her again, pouring all of his emotions into the tender touch of his lips.

“Falcon to Crest, do you copy?”

Both of them looked to the comms, then at each other before finally pulling away. His helmet slipped back on, ensuring it was only her who would ever see him.

“This is Crest,” Din announced, leaning against the control panel.

“It’s Han,” the pilot explained, and gunfire could be heard in the background. “Leia and I are holding them off –got a handful of Senex fighters on your side out here.”

He looked to her, then back out the window of the Razor Crest. “You hold them off and we can get out of here.”

“That hunk of junk can hit hyperspace?” Han ribbed, and Din knew the man was smirking. “Gotta love classics.”

“Gideon got away,” Leia pointed out, voice gravelly through the comms. “So did Calisto. But if you get to the Outer Rim again, you should be safe for a while.”

“If you’re gonna jump, now is the time,” Han warned as Din moved her from the pilot’s seat and took over again. “Good luck with whatever the hell it is you two are up to.”

She laughed and Din glanced at her, smiling beneath his helmet. With his hands on the controls, Din hit the switch and pushed the throttle forward –the jump to hyperspace knocking them both back into their seats. As the stars streaked by in their blur, Din felt a sense of relief wash over him. The battle was over, at least for now. They had emerged victorious, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax.

Beside him, his wife let out a contented sigh, her hand reaching out to take his. He laced his fingers through hers, relishing the warmth and comfort of her touch.

“I can’t believe we did it,” she whispered, taking a deep breath as she looked up at him.

Din turned to her, his heart full. “It’s not over yet,” he reminded her gently, taking his hand back for just a moment. She watched in curiosity as he lifted his helmet, revealing himself once more to her. “But whatever is out there –we’ll handle it.”

She stared at him again, slowly standing from her seat. Her hands –covered in dried blood and streaks of sweat –reached for his face. For a long time, she simply stood above him, eyes and fingers tracing over his features. One hand held his jaw as the other ran over the bridge of his nose, up to his brow and over his eyes. Her thumb skated over his cheek, against the stubble that had grown over the last several weeks.

“You have brown eyes,” she whispered, both hands now resting on his jaw to hold his gaze. “You have brown eyes and you are so beautiful.”

He’d never been called beautiful before, and the compliment made his heart ache as he reached up to hold onto her wrists. Her touch was warm and gentle, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, lost in the intensity of their emotions. It was as if they were the only two people in the galaxy and nothing else mattered except the connection they shared.

Finally, Din broke the silence. "I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled at him, a soft and genuine expression. "I love you too," she promised, her voice barely more than a breath. “I get to look at you for the rest of my life.”

Din felt his heart swell with love for her. He knew that he had found something special, something worth fighting for. And no matter what the future held, he was determined to keep her by his side. As they soared through the galaxy, her touch on his skin, Din felt a sense of hope for the first time in a long time.

Grogu cooed suddenly, drawing their attention to him. He held his arms up and she laughed again, lifting him into her arms. Din took off his gloves, tossing them to the side, so he could run his thumb over their child’s face.

The future was uncertain; there were still threats out there. People hunting them down. But with his princess and their child with him —he knew this would be The Way.

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @lovelessprick @mxtokko @ellesvoid @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dilf-din @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: The battle begins, and the past is revealed.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh

“I’d known death since I was a child. It’s everywhere. In every form you can imagine. And a few your worst nightmare couldn’t muster. As if death was not the result of accidents and disease, death was its own disease. But it had never touched me. It had never placed its rotten finger on my heart. Yes, freedom has fangs. And it sunk them in me. ” ~ Elsa Dutton 1883 

Lorena's hooves pounded against the slope, carrying Kate down into the valley where a few wagons had come to a halt, isolated from the main caravan. Raiders swarmed around them, gunfire echoing in the night as chaos unfolded. With the sun sinking below the horizon, Kate strained to discern the attackers' numbers in the darkness. 

Six horsemen emerged from the west, joined by several more riding over the slope from the north. Kate's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. What are raiders doing this far south in the plains? She asked herself, trying to plan a course of action.

They used the cover of night to their advantage, weaving between trees and shrubs, it was difficult to get a clear shot of them. But she witnessed Charles and Arthur spring into action. Their guns blazed as they lit up the night with each round sending orange sparks into the darkness. As Lorena closed the distance, Kate spotted two wagons left behind: one belonging to John and Abigail, and the other a supply wagon driven by Lenny and Sean. She knew the raiders would target the supplies and likely attempt to steal their horses too.

This left the fighting to Arthur, Charles, and Javier. Who turned back at the sound of the commotion. Lenny and Sean leapt into the wagon for cover as they began shooting blind into the night, the horses crying out in fear. Kate couldn't see Abigail, and she prayed she was well hidden in the wagon with Jack. She made headway to his wagon first. 

She pulled her rifle from her saddle and called out to John, who was firing round after round from his revolver, doing no good against the fast riding raiders. 

“John!” she shouted, catching his attention, he looked down from his seat in the wagon. 

“Kate?” He said, taken back by the sight of her, “you need to find cover!” Concern laced his voice. 

She ignored his statement, holding the rifle up for him, “take this, it's a better shot. Aim for the shrubs, they're using them as cover.” She urged. 

John nodded and took the weapon without hesitation, quickly counting the rounds in the ammunition, “thanks, what will you use?” He asked, already getting in position to take aim. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she answered, determination in her voice, “protect your family.” 

Lorena brought her around to the back of the wagon and she peered inside, sure enough Abigail was clutching Jack to her breast, white knuckled and face scrunched in silent fear. As if she was hoping this was just a bad dream they would wake from. Jack, trying to be brave, trembled in his mother's arms. Without hesitation, Kate leaped into the wagon, placing a comforting hand on Abigail's shoulder. She startled at her touch, “easy Abigail, it's just me, you need to take this.” She held out her own revolver. Abigail opened her eyes and shook her head with a sob. Kate's heart throbbed at the sight of her. 

"I’m not letting go of him!" she cried, her voice quivering with emotion. "When is this going to end?" Her plea carried the weight of past traumas, threatening to overwhelm her.

Knowing they had no time to waste, Kate pressed the revolver into Abigail's trembling hand. She needed a means to defend herself if the worst was going to happen. Jack whimpered at the sounds of gunfire coming from John at the seat of the wagon. She gave him a reassuring look, “be brave for your momma okay? If anybody comes, you shout for me and I’ll come runnin’,” she added with a smile, placing a hand on his little head. He nodded in understanding. 

Lorena waited at the back of the wagon as Kate mounted her and took off towards the fray. She needed to come up with a plan, and fast. She gave her firearms to the Marston family. Which left her with only close range weapons. She reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a tomahawk. It had been a long time since she’s used an old weapon of war. 

With determination she nudged her mare in the belly and took off. The familiar leather grip of her tomahawk left her with a sense of bitter nostalgia. Memories of an old friend came flooding back, and old instincts she had long buried bubbled to the surface. 

In the distance, she spotted Arthur, locked in combat with a raider. His skill and ferocity were undeniable as he dispatched two foes with swift precision. Kate watched, her heart heavy with unspoken truths.

Arthur is wrestling with a giant, Charles' words sounded in her mind. She had faced her own giants, and kept them at bay like a hunter taming a wild beast. She never got the chance to tell him. She would release her giant tonight, and if they survived, she vowed to share her secrets with Arthur, laying bare the depths of her soul.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Under the cloak of night, time seemed to stretch endlessly, though mere minutes had passed. The raiders fell one by one, a testament to their careful strategy. It dawned on the others that shooting wildly was futile; they needed to close the gap.

For Kate, the chaos played to her strengths. While she lacked skill with a gun, in close combat, she was unparalleled. The sickening crunch of bone echoed as her tomahawk met the skull of a raider, sending him crashing to the ground. The scene before her, once familiar yet now unsettling, reminded her of the darkness she had left behind. Yet, there was no joy in the violence; only relief that she no longer found pleasure in such brutality.

With only a few foes left standing, Arthur's gaze found hers, his worry palpable. She reassured him with a nod, urging him to focus on the task at hand.

Scanning the chaotic scene, Kate spotted a lone raider sneaking up on John's wagon, his focus fixed on protecting his brother. With a swift movement, she sprang into action.

She hollered to get the man's attention, as well as Johns. It didn't matter who took him down, as long as he was stopped. Closing the distance, she gripped her weapon high, readying for the strike. The raider turned just as Kate swung, narrowly missing his head as a shot rang out. She was unsure if it was John’s or the bandits until pain shot through her side. The man barely squeezed by her horse and the wagon, and took off in the opposite direction. Ignoring the pain, Kate followed. 

Arthur joined the chase, and together they pursued the raider. Lorena surged forward, fueled by the thrill of the chase. Leaning down to her horse's ear, Kate whispered, "Feels like old times, huh, girl?" Lorena snorted in agreement. Despite her clingy and skittish nature. She was bred to be a war horse, and in her blood she fought just as savagely as her rider. 

She closed in and brought her mare tauntingly close to the last man. With a swift motion she collided the blade with the man's ankle, nearly cutting his own foot off, causing him to fall out of the saddle. He did not reach for his weapon, as he used his last round in an attempt to kill her, instead he lay on his back and put his hands out in mercy. 

Kate dismounted and trudged over to him. 

“I-I’m unarmed!” He pleaded, “please miss you wouldn’t kill an unarmed man!” 

She tossed the tomahawk to the ground and the man eased for a moment, until she pulled her hunting knife out of her belt. His eyes widened and he tried to stand, but his ankle was only holding on by a bit of flesh. 

Arthur finally caught up to them and dismounted, “don’t kill him yet Kate, we need to find out who they are. They could be O’Driscolls.” Kate ignored him, the pain in her side igniting into a blazing fire. The metallic tang of her own blood filled her senses, but she pushed past it with a fierce glare.

“Don’t look like an O'Driscoll to me,” she rasped. Fighting the urge to drive her knife into his belly. Echoes of an old mantra rang in her ears, “our job is to ensure our enemies fear is greater than their greed.”  

“I-I aint an O’Driscoll, we’re just a couple of horse thieves. That’s all,” the man pleaded, using his forearms to distance himself from her. 

The world felt dizzy, her memories of her past began mixing with the present. “That’s all?” She mocked, “you would take these people’s lives,” her voice hoarse, “just for a few horses?” Before he could answer she forcefully kicked him in the belly, hard enough to break a few ribs. The man rolled onto his stomach and spit up blood. 

In a flash, Kate mounted the man from behind, gripping a fistfull of his hair and forcefully pulling back towards her chest. She placed the knife at the edge of his throat, Arthur saw the fire in her eyes as she ended the man's life, sickeningly slow. 

As she drew the blade over his neck she muttered the words low in his ear, “what you take from the land will be taken from you. Know that I am the land, and the land is killing you.” 

As the raider choked on his own blood, Kate dropped his head in the dirt. The wound was not deep enough to kill him quickly. He would asphyxiate for the next several hours, a combination of bleeding out and choking to death. He would teeter on the brink of consciousness, not knowing if he is alive or dead. It was a slow sentence, a merciless one. It was pure torture.  

Arthur stood in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on Kate. He had witnessed his fair share of violence, and dealt with his own. But the intensity in her eyes was unfamiliar, unsettling. She seemed transformed, a wildness emanating from her like a primal force. 

“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” he said awkwardly, unsure if it was the right thing to say at the moment. He had seen a different side of her. And he had a feeling it was one that she was clearly trying to keep buried. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, and he was left grappling with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Kate retrieved her tomahawk and mounted her horse, her movements strained with pain. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Morgan," she replied tersely, her usual sharpness replaced by a somber tone. "We need to keep moving," she added, urging her horse forward. She felt sick to her stomach, the pain mixed with rage and shame and fear. A whirlwind of emotions, it had been years since she killed somebody. She vowed to give that life up. And now, she was riding off with a bunch of outlaws. Leaving behind a bloody battlefield. Arthur watched her ride off, a knot of worry forming in his stomach.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

They rode past Dewberry Creek and down to Clemens Point. A hidden spot on the peninsula of the lake, only a few miles from Rhodes. It was a decent hiding spot. As the last of the caravan pulled in, the members who made it ahead of the chaos came rushing out to greet them. 

As Kate was the last to reach Clemens Point, the weight of the recent events hung heavy on her shoulders. She gazed out at the lake, its surface reflecting the dim light of the moonlit sky. A secluded spot on the beach offered a brief respite from the chaos that had engulfed them, and Kate welcomed the solitude.

Dismounting her horse, she felt the exhaustion settle into her bones like a heavy blanket. Her hands, streaked with dirt and blood, trembled slightly as she reached for the saddle buckles. With a heavy sigh, she removed the burden from Lorena's back, the weight of it suddenly feeling unbearable. As Lorena trotted off to the water's edge, letting out a contented sigh as the coolness soothed her weary joints, Kate couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps she had pushed her loyal mare a bit too hard today.

Grabbing a brush from her saddlebag, Kate set to work cleaning Lorena's coat, the rhythmic motion a comforting distraction from the chaos that had unfolded. In the distance, she could hear the other members of the gang recounting the night's events, their voices a mix of concern, exhaustion, and celebration.

As a pair of hooves approached, Kate knew without looking that it was Arthur. Dismounting, he joined her by the water's edge, letting Belle cool herself alongside Lorena. "Mind if I join ya?" he asked quietly, uncertainty lacing his voice. Kate nodded in response, and Arthur settled onto the sand beside her, kicking off his boots to let the water lap at his feet.

The air was thick with humidity, and the sounds of frogs and cicadas filling the night. It felt strange to be going back east, but somehow it didn’t bother her that her journey had been interrupted.

After a moment of silence, Kate broached the subject that had been weighing on her mind. "You wanna tell me what happened in Valentine?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Arthur sighed heavily, his gaze distant as he recounted the events of the day. "It started with the train job. The law showed up fast, too fast, and we barely made it out of there," he explained. "Cornwall's men nearly killed John the next morning. We made it out, but not without killing half the town.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief, her heart heavy with the weight of Arthur's words. Before she could respond, Arthur spoke again, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry, Kate. I never wanted to drag you into all this mess. Especially after what Micah did," he added with a bitter scoff. "I don’t know why you turned back." 

"I didn't do it just for you," Kate replied after a moment, her gaze meeting Arthur's with unwavering determination. "I did it for Abigail and her boy. From one mother to another." Arthur looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He caught the new information, but his heart fluttered at the idea that she turned back for him as well. 

“I’ve never seen a woman fight like that, it was,” he trailed and Kate was the one to interrupt this time. 

“I know, you don't have to say it. I’m not exactly proud of it,” she looked down in shame. 

Arthur offered a warm smile, “I was gonna say it was real brave.” 

She smiled sadly and shook her head, “still don’t make it right.”

“It was either us or them Kate, don’t beat yourself up about it,” Arthur reassured her. “You know, I’d understand if you still want to leave. But we could surely use some of that bravery around here.” 

Kate nodded and took a deep breath, steeling herself to share something important. “I’ll stay Arthur,” she began, “but, there’s some things I think you should know about me.” 

“We all come from different places, your past is your past,” he said sincerely, “If you don’t wanna share that I don’t want you to think ya have to.” Her heart warmed at the gesture, he was being considerate. After everything he saw he would still grant her the privacy of her past, but that wasn't her plan. 

“No, I want to tell you,” Kate paused, collecting her thoughts, “I think you’ll understand me better. And after what happened at the Downes ranch, I owe it to you.”

Arthur’s curiosity peaked, the conversation from a fortnight weighed heavy on his mind. And he wanted to know how her story tied into that. His mind already raced with assumptions, after seeing the way she fought he couldn't help but wonder if she was on the run from the law too. Or something worse. 

“Alright,” he settled back against the sand, giving her his full attention.  “I’m here to listen, Kate.” 

With a heavy sigh, she decided to start from the beginning. “I’ve known death since I was a child. It began with a railway accident in Boston that took my mother and little sister from me, leaving behind my father and older brother. At the time, my father owned a ranch where we raised dairy cattle. He didn’t take their deaths well, and fell into a depression. My brother and I couldn't keep up with the work alone, so we were forced to sell and move. Thankfully, a family friend took us in on their farm. It was there I met my husband, and for a while, we were sweet on one another.”

Kate recalled the memories, her heart flooding with grief, “we lived there a few years. And when my brother was old enough he joined a mining company, and it was another accident that took his life too. It sent my father over the deep end, and so he hung himself in the barn. Like he suddenly forgot he still had a living child.”

Arthur's face softened, understanding the weight of her losses. To him, it sounded like Kate had a proper family—one that truly loved and cared for each other. 

“I got married the next year, and finally things felt like they were turning for the better. My husband and I built a little ranch together. In a few years, we welcomed a baby girl into our home.” Her voice choked with emotion. “My life felt as perfect as it could get. I miss my family dearly, but I felt like I was carrying on their memory by starting my own.”

Arthur didn't want to think about where her story was going; it was painfully familiar to him. Kate shifted in the sand, wincing as a sharp pain shot up her side. She had forgotten about the bullet in her flesh. The area had gone numb, and the mixed feelings of grief and searing pain caused tears to stream down her cheeks.

“Lorena didn’t even make it through her first summer before disease took her from me, and as if death couldn't have enough, it took my husband from me too.” Her voice shook with pain. 

Arthur sighed, his heart full of sympathy as he observed Kate's emotional turmoil. "Oh, Kate," he said softly, reaching out to comfort her. However, his concern heightened as he noticed the sand around her stained red. "Kate, you're bleeding!" His voice rose with worry.

She nodded, wincing as she reached around her side. "I got shot," she answered, her voice trembling.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" Arthur was already getting up to inspect the wound. "Let me see."

Kate untucked her shirt and lifted it up for Arthur to examine. The bullet had entered just above her hip bone, lodged in the fatty area of her waist. "How bad is it?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

With gentle fingers, Arthur prodded at the wound. It was angry and swollen, and she winced at his touch. He concluded that the bullet was still inside, "the bullet’s still in there, but I think I can get it out. I don't think it hit anything important," he noted, assessing the severity of her injury.

Kate nodded and lifted her shirt further, revealing deep faded scars scattered across her back in the moonlight. “Jesus, Kate,” Arthur muttered softly in surprise. He paused before touching her again, afraid that she might break beneath him like an old clay pot. "What happened?" His voice was as soft as a whisper, fearful of what her answer might reveal.

Closing her eyes, Kate winced once again as Arthur’s hands returned to her wound. “I’ll tell ya once you get this thing out of me,” she replied.

Arthur nodded and, with a gentle hand, held the front of her waist while using his other hand to extract the bullet like it was a cyst, squeezing it out agonizingly slow. Instinctively, she grabbed onto his hand around her waist for support, finding solace in his warmth.

“There, got it,” Arthur said, a hint of pride in his voice as he handed Kate the small pebble that had caused her so much discomfort. “Think of it like a souvenir,” he joked.

“I’ve got plenty of souvenirs,” she mused, tossing the bullet into the lake. Arthur understood she was referring to the scars.

“Come back to my tent,” Arthur suggested, “I’ll stitch you up while you continue to catch me up on the last 10 years of your life.” His tone was playful, an attempt to lighten her mood. Arthur could already tell that her life had been incredibly hard, and seeing the marks on her back only confirmed his fears. Kate nodded, and Arthur helped her walk back to his tent.

To her surprise, the camp was put together rather quickly. Most of the members had settled down around the fire or had gone to bed. Arthur’s things were off to the side of the small clearing, offering him some privacy. His wagon had not been completely unloaded, but there was a cot, as well as a milk crate and an oil lamp. It was no hospital but it would have to do. He gently helped her sit down on his cot while he rummaged through his belongings for the right supplies to stitch her wound. Kate took the opportunity to continue her story. 

“Funny thing about this land,” she started, “our constitution says all men are created equal. But I’m a woman, a widow. They tell us our land is free, but what freedom do I have? I cannot own land, can’t take out a loan, can’t purchase anything in my own name. Choices come with freedom, but I had no choices at all.”

Arthur gave her a sympathetic look, he wasn't always proud of his sex. Most of the men in his life were not good role models, and he himself couldn't understand why some men treated women the way that they did. 

“I had an aunt in Southern California, I never met her but my father had talked about her growing up. So I wrote to her, in a handful of pages I explained everything. And begged her to let me live with her,” she inhaled sharply as Arthur cleaned her wound with alcohol. 

“I was a sorry sight,” she remarked, “I was so terrified to be on my own, and travel across the entire country just to avoid being sent to a nunnery or sold to another man as his bride. I had enough money to get me to Virginia, and after that I had to find my own way.”

In the dim light Arthur sat crouched on the ground beneath her while Kate sat in his cot. She looked down at him, working diligently and so tenderly to clean her wound as painless as possible. His gaze was fixed and intent while he worked, but Kate knew he was taking in every word she said. 

“So I joined a caravan that was heading west to Arizona. I figured they could at least get me close enough. Only problem was they were all German, and had very little knowledge of how to travel across the American west," Kate said with a bitter chuckle, “there were a few ranchers that came with us, and we tried to teach them what we could. Most of them couldn't even ride a horse!” She exclaimed. 

Arthur blew out a breath, “oh they were doomed from the start.” 

“It started with 72 of us, and we began to lose people as soon as we hit the Appalachian trail. Their carelessness became contagious; sickness and snakes, bad horses and poison berries. But of all the perils awaiting us, there was one word so feared it was barely spoken and barely whispered… the river.” 

Arthurs blood went cold. He couldn’t imagine the fear and terror as innocent families were ripped apart by dark waters. Punished simply for seeking a better life. The land was more merciless than any outlaw he knew. He noticed Kate relax under his touch, he worked gently as he ran the pad of his thumb over the flesh of her scars. Small bumps and lines, like tiny mountains in a cartography map. Like these scars mapped her history. Where she stood tall and brave in the face of danger. He admired her, being young and alone in this world was terrifying. He knew that feeling well. 

“The Kanawha river nearly took all of us that day. We came out the other side with barely 15 people,” Kate shook her head at the memory, “I thought we had seen the worst. But it was only the beginning, Arthur.” 

He looked up at the sound of his name, her voice trembling with fear. Their eyes locked and he saw a broken girl looking back at him. They shared a silent moment of understanding. He had heard stories from Appalachia, it was something a child could not muster even in their worst nightmares. Reaching for her arm, he squeezed her gently, “Kate,” he said softly, like he was crooning a baby, “you don’t have to tell me if the memories hurt.” 

Warmth spread over her cheeks as silent tears fell, her heart was in her throat. It had been so long since she talked to someone about it. For the first time in years she felt like Arthur was the only person truly seeing her. 

“We had crossed into Lakota hunting territory,” she continued, “there was a feud over the land between the tribe and the Virginia government. But it didn’t matter for us, the Indians came anyway. They killed all the men, leaving only myself and two other girls. I couldn’t do anything but watch it happen. I was no use with a gun and I had no idea where to go. So they took me.” 

“And I knew I was going to die.” 

[taylorswiftandx]

Taylor Swift and War

Note: huge thank you to @meandmypagancrew who assembled the lyrics for this post! A quick reminder that these type of posts can be quite subjective and we have taken a pretty broad view, but please comment if you think something has been left out.

'Taylor Swift'

(no war)

'Fearless (Taylor's Version)'

Tell Me Why: I took a chance, I took a shot and you might think I’m bulletproof but I’m not

Change: It's a sad picture, the final blow hits you

Change: This revolution, the time will come

Change: We’ve been outnumbered, raided and now cornered

Change: It’s hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

Change: Tonight we’ll stand, get off our knees, fight for what we’ve worked for all these years

Change: The battle was long, it’s the fight of our lives

Change: It’s a revolution, through your hands up

Mr. Perfectly Fine: So strategized, all the eyes on you

'Speak Now (Taylor’s Version)’'

Mean: You can take me down with just one single blow

Mean: You, with your switching sides and your wildfire lies and your humiliation

Innocent: I guess you really did it this time, left yourself in your warpath

Long Live: I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you 

Timeless: Even if we’d met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were heard off to fight in the war

Timeless: I would’ve read your love letters every single night and prayed to God you’d be coming home all right

'Red (Taylor's Version)'

State of Grace: You come around and the armor falls, pierce the room like a cannonball

Ronan: You fought it hard like an army guy

Better Man: Push my love away like it’s some kind of loaded gun

Nothing New: Shoot you down and then they sigh and say “She looks like she’s been through it”

All Too Well (10 Minute Version): I’m a soldier who’s returning half her weight

'1989 (Taylor’s Version)’

Bad Blood: Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes

I Know Places: They take their shots, but we’re bulletproof

Clean: Hung my head as I lost the war

You Are In Love: And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

Bad Blood (feat. Kendrick Lamar): Now POV of you and me, similar Iraq

Bad Blood (feat. Kendrick Lamar): It was my season for battle wounds, battle scars, body bumped, bruised

'reputation'

(no war)

'Lover'

The Archer: Combat, I’m ready for combat

You Need To Calm Down: You are somebody that I don’t know but you’re taking shots at me like it’s Patrón

You Need To Calm Down: You are somebody that we don’t know but you’re coming at my friends like a missile

'folklore'

Exile: You’re not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now?

My Tears Ricochet: And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

Mad Woman: My cannons all firing at your yacht

Epiphany: Keep your helmet, keep your life, son

Epiphany: Just a flesh wound, here’s your rifle

Epiphany: Crawling up the beaches now, “Sir, I think he’s bleeding out”

Epiphany: With you I serve, with you I fall down, down

Peace: And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches

'evermore'

Tolerate It: I greet you with a battle hero’s welcome

Tolerate It: When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

Long Story Short: Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles ‘til the battle picked me

Long Story Short: We live in peace, but if someone comes at us, this time, I’m ready

Evermore: Whether weather be the frost or the violence of the dog days

'Midnights'

Mastermind: Strategy sets the scene for the tale

The Great War: Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

The Great War: All that bloodshed, crimson clover

The Great War: My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War

The Great War: I vowed not to cry anymore if we survived the Great War

The Great War: You drew up some good faith treaties

The Great War: The bombs were closer

The Great War: I vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the Great War

The Great War: Soldier down on that icy ground

The Great War: Broken and blue, so I called off the troops

The Great War: There’s no morning glory, it was war, it wasn’t fair

The Great War: I vowed I would always be yours 'cause we survived the Great War

You’re Losing Me: All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier

You’re Losing Me: Fighting in only your army, front lines, don’t your ignore me

Other Songs written by Taylor

Eyes Open: Yesterday, we were just children playing soldiers, just pretending

Eyes Open: In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords

Renegade: You fire off missiles cause you hate yourself, but do you know you’re demolishing me?

Safe and Sound: The war outside our door keeps raging on

The Alcott: Everything that’s mine is a landmine

Official Alternate Releases

(no war)

[wrathfulrook]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @direwombat <3 Thank you!

Have a snippet from another of the "In Which Bad Things Happen to Patience Ekner" oneshots.

She heard his approach before she saw him. He stepped into the clearing in his signature dumbass coat, sunglasses perched atop his head as if it weren’t long past sundown. God, he was so fucking pretentious. She was sure he had his handgun strapped to his side, yet he still carried an AR-C in his hands. She’d almost be flattered he found her so formidable if she didn’t find it so obnoxious.

John stepped into the moonlight, but Patience stayed at the treeline, ready to duck behind a thick trunk at a moment’s notice. She cleared her throat to alert him to her presence in the trees. He grinned ominously in her direction.

“Step out of the shadows, my dear. How am I supposed to know you’re truly alone and unarmed? Why don’t you step out slowly with your hands up, hm?”

Patience hesitated before speaking. “I can come out but I have something in my arms.”

“Then set it down,” he said harshly, clearly losing his hold over his temper.

“…I’d really rather prefer not to.”

“Just come out,” he said as he raised his rifle in her direction.

She sighed and slept out slowly, telling herself over and over in her head that it was fine, that he wouldn’t shoot. He wouldn’t shoot, he wouldn’t shoot, he wouldn’t shoot.

She expected something else. A gasp, wide eyes, a double take, something. Instead, as she stepped out of the shadows, he simply raised an eyebrow, put his gun down, and asked, “Is that yours?”

And something about how casually the question was posed pissed her off so thoroughly that she snapped at him in response, “No. I got him at fucking Bed, Bath, & Beyond.”

He laughed blithely at that, gesturing at the squirming infant in her arms. “He, is it? Does he have a name?”

Patience sighed. “James.”

John smiles smugly. “And I take it little James here is the reason my men have had such sparse sightings of you over the past, what has it been, nine months?”

She scowled at him. “He’s a month old.”

He smiled and crossed his arms in an adopted posture of perfect ease. She noticed his eyes carefully scan the treeline behind her, probably checking for signs of more people, as if he still thought this was a trap. Patience bristled in offense.

“I wouldn’t bring my child to an ambush, John.”

“One can never be too sure…”

She stood in angry silence, rocking the baby in her arms.

“Well, if this isn’t an ambush, then what is it?”

“I need help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Medical help. For James.”

“Is he ill?” John asked calmly, like he was asking for the time. Like this wasn’t about her son’s life. She wanted to tear him limb from limb, and may well have done it if she wasn’t desperate for his help.

She spoke tersely. “He needs antibiotics.”

“And why should I help with that?”

“Because you have stolen all the medical supplies. You’ve kidnapped all the doctors-“

“Saved them.”

“And because he is an innocent child who needs your help.”

John shrugged. “I’m not in the habit of letting enemies into my Gate. That would hardly be prudent, strategically. Now, I could take your child and get him the care he needs.”

“No,” she said adamantly. “I am not letting you take him from me.”

He smiled as if chagrined. “Then there’s nothing I can do.”

“Bullshit.”

“Maybe. Perhaps it’s better to say there’s nothing I will do.”

Patience spoke with all the fire of the protective mother she was. “Wrong. You will help him.”

“And why would I do that?”

Patience had rehearsed this conversation in her head. She’d thought through every possible response he could have and what she’d say in response. But now, in the moment, all she could think about was the baby in her arms, much too warm, a fever taking over his tiny body. She wasn’t concerned with how much she’d have to give up. All she wanted was her baby to be ok.

So, she offered John the most she had.

“Because I’m willing to turn coat.”

Taglist (opt in/out)

@thepachy @voidbuggg @adelaidedrubman @inafieldofdaisies @strangefable @socially-awkward-skeleton

[chicaotaku-fanfics]

There's Three of You?! Pt. 12

Continuing from where our last chapter ended.

Our shooting gets 10000x more complicated when new evidence comes in.

Also, added two scenes which I think are cute, and show how Lilly and her brothers interact, as well as how her friendship with Connor is growing. (They'll end up being best friends, you can count on that.)

Warnings: foul language, might be some medical inconsistencies.

CHAPTER 12

Sometime later I saw the Gift of Hope members take off with two little transport fridges with the organs of Mrs. Simps, it was a bittersweet sight for me since I had the chance of taking care of Max. I was sitting at the nurses station, thinking somethings over, when I saw Miss Goodwin and Maggie, I walked over to them.

“Well, there she goes.” said Miss Goodwin.

“Something doesn't make sense.” said Maggie, I nodded.

“What's that?” asked Miss Goodwin again, I decided to make my presence known to both women.

“Shooting in a movie theater, and we've only had one GSW, and that was the shooter.” I said.

“Where are the rest of the gunshot victims?” asked Maggie, continuing my point. Miss Goodwin looked at both od us, I turned to the chief nurse and then to my boss, nodded to both of them and left to check what else I could do around the hospital.

My trip was cut short when I saw my brother and his partner enter the ED, I walked over to them.

“Hey guys.” I said, Jay smiled at me and hugged me briefly, I hugged back, then Erin hugged me.

“Hey LilyPad, how you doing?” he asked, I shrugged.

“Seen better days. You here for the teacher?” I asked, Erin was the one who answered now.

“Yeah, just got some interesting info, and we wanted to run some details by him.” she said, I nodded.

“Of course, follow me.” I said, turning around and starting to walk towards the treating room we had him in. Reese was with him, as well as April, putting a band-aid on a recently stitched cut on his forehead.

“Mr. Miller. There are a couple of detectives here that need to ask you some questions.” I said, then turned to Reese.  “Is he all right to come with me?” I asked her

“Yeah, just finished. Just waiting to get him to CT.” she said, I smiled.

“All right, Mr. Miller.” I said, guiding everyone to a more private room.

“Thanks.” he said.

“Mm-hm.” Reese nodded, and April did too.

“Uh… I already spoke with the officers at the scene.” said Mr. Miller, as soon as he sat down.

“We're just here to clarify a few things.” said my brother, I thought I’d be last one in, but Miss Goodwin entered the room too.

“You said you saw the gunman enter the theater, is that right?” Erin asked the algebra teacher.

“Yes, from the emergency exit by the screen.” he answered.

To be honest, he seems pretty sure for someone who suffered a head injury.

“And what was he carrying?” Erin questioned again.

“Um, an assault rifle.” said Miller, I was a bit shocked.

“You saw the weapon?” the dirty blond detective asked.

“Yes, he was, uh, waving it around.” answered the brunette.

“Can you describe the weapon?” Jay questioned now.

“Uh… I couldn't tell if it was a Kalashnikov. I couldn't see the banana clip, you know? I think it was an M16A1.” the teacher answered.

He knows a lot about guns to just be an algebra teacher. I thought, as I heard the man answer the questions.

“Did you hear him fire the weapon?” Jay aked the man the $10,000 dollars question.

“Yes, that's why I pulled my gun.” said the civilian sitting in front of my brother and his partner, who then looked at each other.

Oh oh, that look’s not good.

“Is it possible that the shots you heard were actually coming from the movie?” my brother asked the man.

“No. What– what's, uh… what's going on here?” asked Mr. Miller.

“Peter, the kid that you shot is a prankster.” Erin started her explanation.

Now that’s a big plot twist if I’ve ever heard one.

“He thinks it's funny to scare people. He posts videos on the Internet.” she finished her explanation.

“I don't understand.” said Miller, confused beyond belief.

“He didn't have an assault rifle. He didn't have a rifle at all. He had a leaf-blower.” she said, pulling a print out of an oficial PD Crime Lab picture from the file foulder she had in her hand.

I saw Miss Goodwin close her eyes, not believing what she was hearing, I turned to my brother and he looked at me, nodding to follow him outside. We excused ourselves and left the room. I guided him to an empty hall and turned to see him.

“Please tell me that the last few minutes were some kind of joke.” I said, he let out a sigh.

“Unfortunately LilyBloom, I can’t.” he said, then walked closer to me, as if to share a secret. “We retrieved the leaf-blower, and the bullet caskets found at the scene are a match to Miller’s gun. No other caskets were found.” he said, I walk away a bit, hands going to the back of my head.

“God.” I let my hands fall, just when I was about to ask another question, two more figures joined us.

“Hey Jay, Lilly. Everything alright?” asked Will, Connor not to far behind him. I turned to my green-eyed brother, he nodded. I, in turn, turned to the other two doctors and nod towards an empty room.

“What’s going on here?” asked Connor as soon as the door closed.

“The movie theater shooting situation just got a hell of a lot more complicated.” I said.

“What’s so complicated about it? A guy went into the movies, pulled out a gun and a concerned citizen saved everyone. What’s complicated about that?” asked Will.

“The fact that the kid didn’t have a gun.” said Jay. Both doctors’ expressions changed to ones of shock.

“Say that again? There was no gunman at the movies?” asked Connor, looking between Will, Jay and I.

“Apparently he’s a prankster who enjoys scaring people… thinks it’s funny somehow.” I said.

“But the gun…” started Will.

“Never existed. It was a leaf-blower.” said Jay.

Both doctors in front of me are shocked. As if on cue we all turned to the window of the room we were in, a nurse was taking Mr. Miller to another private room, probably to avoid everyone… specially the press, then I remembered something important.

“Oh, right.” that pulled the thre men’s attention back to me. “Uhm. Connor, this is our brother Jay. Jay, this is Connor, a great trauma surgeon, and our colleague.” I said, both of them shook hands.

“Nice to meet you man.” said Jay, Connor smiled at him.

“So you’re the famous Jay, huh? Lilly’s told me a lot about you.” Connor said, I blushed, Jay turned to me.

“All good things I hope.” he said.

“Who do you take me for? Of course I’ve sang you praises everytime I talked about you.” I said, the blush still on my face.

“Except for the occasional comment about you wanting to slap him in the back of the head.” said Will, I turned to him with a murderous expression.

“I know where you live Halstead.” I said to him, he laughed, grabbing me in a headlock and giving me a nudgie.

“What was that you pipsqueak? Did you say something?” he said, I started laughing too.

“You freaking giant, let me go!” I said inbetween laughter.

Eventually Will let me go, and the mood became serious again, but Will had a smile on his face.

“At least you’ve improven my mood, my last patient isn’t the most pleasant.” he said, we all frowned in confusion. “She’s old and a bit racist.”

“Oh.” Connor, Jay and I said at the same time.

“Yeah. Asked for Ethan because, and I quote, «the Orientals make the best doctors. It's their math skills.»” I snorted at that. “Yeah, ha ha.” Will said, sarcasm in his tone.

“And what did you do?” asked Jay.

“More like, what did Ethan do?” I asked.

“Told her she needed a biopsy, and then finished it up quoting Confucius.” he said, I made a confused face.

“Isn’t Ethan Korean? Confucius is Chinese.” I said.

“That’s what I said, but… meh… she was left starstruck, and agreed to the biopsy so…” Will said, just then Connor’s pager went off.

“Gotta go, the kid’s finally in the ICU.” he said, I turned to him.

“Right, how did he do in the surgery?” I asked, Connor sighed. “Don’t say anything else, that’s answer enough.” I added, he nodded. “Want me to go with you? We were primaries when he came in.” I said.

“Yeah, why not.” he said, then turned to my brothers. “Gentlemen, I’m gonna steal your sister for a while.”

“You can keep her if you want man.” said Jay.

“Yeah, she’s independent, won’t give you much trouble… but we don’t take responsibility if she breaks your heart or wounds your ego.” said Will, both had smirks on their faces.

“You fuckers! I’m a delight!” I exclaimed, that made everyone laugh.

“Go treat the kid and we’ll see each other later.” said Jay.

“Chinese at mine later? We could watch a movie.” I asked, both my brothers nodded. I turned to the blue-eyed surgeon “The invitation’s for you too.” I added.

“Yeah, why not.” Connor answered.

“Great. I choose the movie.” said Will, Jay and I turned to him so fast it was a miracle we didn’t get whiplash.

“The hell you will! You made us watch Titanic three times in two days last time!” Jay and I exclaimed at the same time.

“It’s a classic!” argued my elder brother.

“Still… to much.” I said. “I say we watch a Disney movie.” now both my brothers groaned. “What?” I asked.

“Aren’t you too old for a Diney movie?” asked Will.

“Says the guy who still sings along to all of the Brother Bear soundtrack.” I said, Will blushed.

“Just get out and go to your patient, we’ll decide later.” said Jay, I nodded.

Connor opened the door for me and we exited the room, making our way to the elevators. The ride was a short one, he gave me main details that I had to know, but the entire description was for the parents.

“We have clamped the entire blood supply to his liver.” Connor told the parents as he made his way to the side of the bed to check the monitors, I made my own way to the other side.

“It's keeping him alive for now, but it's a temporary solution.” I said.

“He needs a liver transplant to survive.” Connor spoke again.

“Which he won't get. Peter'll stay at the bottom of the list, won't he?” the father asked, looking at Connor, then at me. “How long does he have?” he added.

“A day, maybe two.” Connor answered. The parents moved to be beside his son, instead of standing at the foot of the bed.

“He did a bad thing, but he's not a bad person. He's just a boy.” said his mom, placing a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

A boy who decided it was a good idea to enter a movie theater and scare the shit out of everyone with a leaf-blower.

“Please… save my son.” she said, looking first at me, then at Connor. We both nodded and then exited the room.

Both Connor and I rubbed our faces with our hands, different degrees of exhaustion in our expressions. Just then, Dr. Zanetti made her way to us… more like to Connor, but I was there, so she pulled me along too.

“Rumor's floating around, you're gonna want to hear it.” she said, as she made us walk along with her.

Is she talking about the kid being a prankster?

“You mean the fact that the kid didn’t have a gun?” I asked, Zanetti stopped in her tracks.

“You knew?!” she exclaimed. We both nodded. “How?!” she asked.

“Contacts.” I said, Connor nodded to that.

“If you’re talking about the rumor mill…” Zanetti started, I interrupted her.

“Nope. Although its speed is remarkable… no we didn’t hear it from there. We heard from my brother.” I said, Zanetti looked confused.

“Dr. Halstead?” she asked, I shook my head no. “Then who?” she added.

“You do remember I have a brother in the CPD, right?” I asked her, she looked confused again.

“There’s three of you?!” she exclaimed, I just rolled my eyes.

“Yes, there is. Now, focus?” I asked.

“So, the good doctor, the detective, and the walking disaster?” Zanetti asked.

“I’d like to think I’m the good doctor, but yeah… you could say that.” I said. “If you’ll excuse me.” I added, walking away and leaving Connor with the blond surgeon.

Not ten minutes later, Connor found me to tell me that, apparently, Max’s mom’s liver was on its way back. We looked at each other and then ran to find Miss Goodwin.

We found her right before she took the elevator to her office, so we jogged a bit to catch up to her.

“Is it true? Lucy Simm's liver is on its way back to the hospital?” Connor asked.

“The intended recipient died in pre-op.” said Miss Goodwin.

“Peter is an HLA match, it can go to him.” the surgeon next to me spoke again.

“Yeah, there are names ahead of him on the list.” rebuted our boss.

“None of them are in this hospital.” said Connor

“It has already been three hours, livers are viable for less than 12.” I added.

“By the time the list gets sorted out, the patient prepped, organ shipped, it may be too late.” Connor added this time.

“Lucy's husband can direct donate to whomever he chooses. Ask him to give it to Peter.” I begged.

“You two are talking about the man responsible for his wife's death.” Miss Goodwin said firmly.

“Who’s also our patient.” I said with the exact same tone.

“And he has done a horribly stupid thing, I know, but he's a kid. Peter deserves a chance to turn his life around.” said Connor, ending his sentence right before the elevator doors closed.

“Think she’ll consider it?” I asked him, he sighed, rubbing his hands through his face.

“Honestly? I don’t know. At this point, I’m willing to start praying for a miracle.” said Connor, half his sentence sounding muffled ‘cause of his hands being on his face.

“It seems we do need a miracle…” I said, my hand going to where my Saint Benedict medal was under my scrub top, Connor followed the movement of my hand with questioning eyes. I took out the small medal and showed it to him. “Saint Benedict’s medal.” I said, he took the tiny medal into his palm, and nodded.

“I’m willing to pray for that miracle to happen… even if I sometimes doubt God listens to them.” he confessed. I took his hand and pulled him towards an empty room.

“Then thank God I was raised Catholic… and that my faith always came easier.” connor was about to ask, but I beat him to it. “Jay’s like you most of the time. Has his days were faith comes easier and others in which I can tell he questions if God really listens to us mere mortals.” I make a pause, taking a seat, Connor sitting next to me. “Will and I’s faith always came easier… we trust easier too.” I make another pause.

“I envy you for that, you know? It's a good thing.” said Connor, I blushed a little, then looked at the ground.

“It’s also the reason Will and I got our hearts broken so much during college and med school.” I said, then took the medal into my right hand, offering my left to Connor. He took it and, silently, we prayed for our miracle.

[kendrene]

Hi Dren :)

If your angsty muse is willing, I would love to see your take on 1. “I thought I would never see you again.” 👀

“Ava?” 

Beatrice’s holographic image warps in and out of existence like the flame of a soldering torch  almost spent. No longer laminar and pointed and propane blue, but a pale flickering ghost against the shadowed backdrop of the corridor.

“Ava, do you copy?” Static. An afterimage overwriting Beatrice’s face, her brows pinched by concern. Bodies piled on bodies piled on severed parts in the middle of a room with no regards for decency. Horror, filtered through the uncaring lens of a low-res surveillance camera. 

“Ava, can you hear me?” 

The signal clears. The holo image steadies. Beatrice solidifies in front of Ava’s eyes, her lips moving, mouth opening to ask again.

“I can—” Something heavy scratches at the grille of the nearest air vent. Ava cuts the video feed off, plunging the hallway into complete darkness. “Hold on.” Beatrice’s rapid breathing echoes inside her ears. “Something—” 

The scratching increases. She can hear growling too. A strange, wet sound, caught between a gurgle and a groan. The pain, Ava thinks, of a stomach hollowed out by hunger. She flattens herself to the floor, teeth clenched around a shuddering exhale. The growling moves away from her position. To the next vent, the one further down the corridor. Then, it ceases altogether.  

Whatever’s hunting her is gone. For now.

“I can hear you.’ A flick of her wrist and the video feed between her and Bea is restored. Awash in the gray-blue light of the projected image, Ava offers a thumbs up and a grin. Beatrice’s brow doesn’t smooth, but her eyes flood with relief. 

“Thank God.” Beatrice is clutching something Ava cannot quite make out. No. Wait. It’s Lilith’s rifle. Why does Bea — “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Thought I’d never see me again either, honestly.” When the lights had gone out, when those conglomerates of teeth and sharpened bone had burst out from every wall, screaming. When they had scattered. Ava had thought she was dead. That they all were. She shrugs the memory away. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m with Cam.” Summoned, Camila pops in frame for a moment. “The others… We got separated. We’ve been trying to hail them since.” Beatrice’s tone strains under the weight of something unspoken, but she pulls it together before Ava has a chance to ask her what it is. “Cam is sending you our position. Do you think you can reach us?”

“I don’t know where I am.” Ava had run, same as them, with no real sense of direction. She’d run until she couldn’t run anymore. “But I can try and crawl back to you once I get my bearings.”

“Crawl?” Beatrice’s frown is back full force. “Ava what are you — are you hurt?” 

“Not exactly.” Ava fiddles with the video controls, allowing the FOV to pan out. For the first time, Beatrice can see her in full. See how she sprawls, belly-down, on the frigid floor plating. How her legs trail behind her. Useless and dead. “The hydraulics of my exosuit got damaged as I fled. I don’t feel anything from the waist down.” 

“Okay then we’re coming to you.” Beatrice’s hands tighten on the rifle and she shifts to redistribute its weight. She’s used to fixing things, not shooting them apart. “Cam can trace you through the comms and we can use the tram system to—”

“No can do.” Cam interjects from somewhere behind Bea. Ava hears the steady click clack of a keyboard. It’s strangely calming. “Tram network is down, and the only way to reboot it is on Ava’s side of the ship.” 

“And you think I can fix it because?” Ava pushes up on her hands, swallowing on bile when her fingers slide through something viscous and still warm. “Bea’s the engineer.”

“I can tell you what to do.” Bea’s smile is encouraging but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “First we got to get you walking again, somehow.”

“That I can help with.” A row of emergency lights fizzes on at the end of the hall, their tired yellow glow pulling Ava forward. “There’s a suit repair station close by.” The latent tension in Camila’s voice eases and she adds. “Just follow the light.”

***

“Are you sure about this, Cam?” Ava grabs at a piece of jutting metal and heaves until she’s upright, mostly, leaning like a drunk against the rivet-studded bulwark. “It doesn’t look like a repair station to me.”

“Well, the map—” 

“Hold on, there’s some letters.” Ava has to drag herself inside the narrow alcove and twist around to read. “It says—” H.A.L.O. she mouths, quietly. An acronym. An acronym for what? “Yeah, Cam this really doesn’t make any—” 

The feed cuts off.

“Welcome,” a voice says all around her. “To the High Altitude Long Operations exoskeletal system. Please, stand by.” 

“The what?” Ava’s attempt to wiggle away is thwarted by hundreds of copper wires snaking out of compartments she’s positive were smooth unbroken metal seconds ago. Each magnetically attaches to the ports of her damaged exosuit, snagging her in place. “Wait!” She says to nobody in particular. “Hold on, what are you doing?’

“Please relax.’ The incorporeal voice suggests. “Connecting shortly.”

The last thing Ava sees before the ship’s walls collapse around her is the name. USG Ishimura framed in blood.

After, there is only searing white.

[wrxsslin-hours]

Hey, Lover (Chapter 1)

next chap |

Bret was only supposed to deliver flowers to Shawn, not fall in love with him.

(Quintessential Delivery Boy x Househusband bretshawn au)

a/n: Hi hello, how y'all doing? Remember that one time I wrote this fic? A year ago, I think? Wild. Since Christmas break is coming along and I don't have classes until the 22nd, I was thinking I should finish this small fic-let. Thank you for readin'

I've rejected affection for years and years. Now I have it, and damn it, it's kind of weird. He tells me I'm pretty. Don't know how to respond. I tell him that he's pretty too. Can I say that? Don't have a clue - "Valentine", Laufey

The flower shop was the apotheosis of all flower shops—small but brimming with buckets and pots of flowers. A tender farrago of lilies, carnations, and hydrangeas filled the room. The floor was a mess of leaves and rogue petals; the shelves above, a nest of ribbons and silk. Wrapping papers crumpled, and the radio sang. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains and bathed the room in warmth; dust and pollen danced in its rays. It was a peek into the world through pink-tinted glasses, a sea of reds and whites. And in the middle of it all, Bret arranged roses as if he were a man on a mission.

Like clockwork, Bret tied a bow around the neck of the bouquet and gently placed it beside the others he had made. He rubbed the underside of his nose to block the overpowering aroma of flowers. The corners of his lips tugged into a frown. Customers would say the scent was heavenly; Bret would beg to differ. Curly black tresses framed his face as the sound of hushed giggles drowned the staccato melodies of the radio. An annoyed huff sliced through the air. Bruce, Bret’s brother, let out an exasperated sigh, his nose buried between the pages of his newspaper.

“Would you two stop poking your noses where they don’t belong?”

Bruce’s reprimand fell on deaf ears. Bret turned his head to Owen and Elizabeth, the sides of their faces glued to the cracked door of their parents’ shared office. It wasn’t too long ago that a tall man came barreling down the shop doors, wallet in his hands like a rifle ready to shoot through every assortment of tulips and orchids. The stranger was a far cry from their regular customers. He didn’t have the caved shoulders of a shy teen or the worried lines of a husband who forgot his anniversary. He was confident and sharp, savvy like a businessman with a heartthrob smile. He wasn’t the average Joe. And after such a slow day of work, his intrusion caught everyone’s attention. It’s been ten minutes since their parents whisked the man away into their office, and Owen and Elizabeth sat fixated on the shadows that shifted underneath the gap in the door.

Owen waved his hand, and his sandy blonde hair swayed as he did so. He reeled his head back to face his brother’s furrowed brows with furrowed brows of his own. “Pipe down, Bruce. I can’t hear a thing over your yapping.”

The older Hart gritted his teeth, ready to crack from the tension of his jaw. Before he had the chance to stand, roll his newspaper, and whack Owen upside the head, Elizabeth squealed and stopped him dead in his tracks. Four pairs of eyes darted to her as she slid her back down the wall, her hands on her flushed cheeks.

“He ordered fifty roses.” She swooned, the skirt of her lilac dress pooling around her as she sat on the floor. Owen scrambled beside his sister, his head cemented onto the door once more. As the conversation beyond the door rambled on, Owen hung onto every faint word his ears could decipher.

“Fifty roses!” Owen gasped, disbelief in his eyes. The blonde turned his head to his brothers and wiggled his eyebrows, “Talk about a Casanova.”

Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet, leaves on her skirt. “Isn’t it romantic?” she mused starry-eyed. “I’d love to get a bouquet like that,” she sighed, her head tilted heavenward.

Jim rolled his eyes at her daydreaming, gaze as dark as the stem-covered marble counter he lay on. He pursed his lips and twirled a flower between his fingers, “Fifty roses are daylight robbery. Pretty sappy if you ask me.” He plucked a leaf from its stem. “This guy must be loaded to make an order like that.”

Bruce sat down on a stool, the soles of his shoes balanced on its footrest. He shrugged his shoulders as he opened his newspaper and went to the page he left off. “That just means there’s more money for us.” He leaned his head back and laughed.

The office door suddenly flew open and thwacked Owen square on the face. A groan escaped the blonde’s lips. But his pain was left muted by the gruff voice of the man that opened the door. “Watch it, twerp,” the man snapped, his face red and his suit white.

Cowboy hat on his head, chocolate-colored eyes pointed to the studded watch on his wrist. The man’s black loafers, shined to perfection, smacked against the checker-tiled floor. Like a tornado, he stormed out of the shop and knocked every pot that stood in his way. Bret stared as the stranger crossed the street, entered his eggshell-colored limousine, and drove off. Bruce grumbled as he, Jim, and Elizabeth picked up the pots the man pushed down. Owen shakily stood up beside Bret with his hands on his nose and redness on his forehead. “I’m not delivering for that jerk,” he sneered. He patted Bret on the shoulder, “He’s all yours.”

Before Bret could retort, their parents strode into the room, an argument along with them. “We can’t possibly have fifty roses ready for today,” Helen bickered as she unfolded the napkin their customer gave, her hair brown like the apron she wore. “We won’t have them restocked until Saturday.”

Stu huffed as his eyes darted around his shop before they stopped on the rose bouquets on Bret’s work table. He grabbed the flowers and began to unwrap them. He piled the roses into a hill and cast everything else aside. Bret sputtered, his shades sliding down the bridge of his nose as he did so, “Dad, those were an order for Miss Mae–”

“Miss Mae can wait, Bret.” Stu wrapped the roses with precision. Helen sighed beside him as she plucked a notecard and began to write down whatever their latest client scribbled on the coffee-stained napkin. “Mr. Layfield is paying big money to have his delivery done today,” Stu explained. “It’s the biggest order we got since we opened, so we should make him happy.”

It didn’t take long for Bret to have a behemoth of a bouquet in his arms and a clipboard tucked under his chin. Bret could feel the dull pinch of thorns on his biceps; the aroma of roses bombarded his nose as it completely buried his upper body. With one last tweak on the bouquet from his mother, Bret was out the door and into the delivery truck. Before he could drive off, his father’s voice rang in the breeze. Bret peeked over the roses to see Stu waving at him. “Take off your sunglasses!” he exclaimed, hands around his mouth to amplify his words. Bret fought to roll his eyes as he dragged his sunglasses to the top of his head and steered the truck into the busy streets.

Bret passed a flurry of saloons and office buildings. The world outside the truck was a blur of greens and grays. White picket fences turned into towering hedgerows, wooden street lights turned into metal lamp posts, and mismatched row houses turned into palatial mansions. Bret’s delivery truck stuck out like a sore thumb in the presence of luxury sedans. A low whistle escaped his lips as he slowed to a halt in front of the rose bouquet’s intended.

A mansion stood tall in the presence of neatly trimmed hedges and surrounded by an army of limousines and cars. Upon the home’s slate roof was an array of leaves connected to twining vines that hugged its brick walls, and behind those vines were large arched windows, like hair that covered soulful eyes. Bret could faintly make out the beige curtains behind the glass panes. He grabbed the bouquet and reveled in the manor’s beauty. It was the picture of pristine perfection, a scene straight from the home magazines his mother would regularly read. Bret would’ve been impressed if the mansion didn’t look like every other house in the cul-de-sac. He grabbed the rose bouquet and slipped his clipboard on top of it. The gravel path crinkled underneath his feet as he walked to the manor’s grand double doors. The sun bore onto his skin as Bret pushed the doorbell with his elbow. He rolled his eyes at the sound of cowbells that echoed in his ears. The doorbell tune was ostentatious as the roses in his hands.

Silence filtered the air. Bret clicked his tongue and pushed the doorbell again, the sound of the doorbell more annoying than the first. He juggled the flowers in his hands as he looked down at the address written on his clipboard. The idea of being in the wrong house filled his mind, but before Bret could turn his back from the door, it swung open. ‘Finally,’ Bret thought. With his eyes still on his clipboard, he tilted his head to the side. “Does Mr. Shawn Layfield live here?” he asked.

“Well, hello to you too, handsome,” a voice drawled, sweet like honey and slow like molasses.

Bret’s head shot up as a chill ran down his spine. His dark eyes landed on the man in front of him, his breath hitched. Bret balanced the bouquet in one hand as he tugged on the collar of his pink shirt with the other. He expected the thick velvet of a butler’s tuxedo, not the glossy sheen of a silk robe. He expected thinning silver hair, not damp blond curls that clung to tanned skin. Bret was ready to smell the musk of dust, not the aroma of cigarettes and Parisian perfume. He shook his head in a vain attempt to escape the other man’s allure. “I have flowers for him.”

Shawn’s smile widened, “Are they from you?”

“They’re from–” Bret read his clipboard – “Mr. John Bradshaw Layfield.”

The blond’s smile left as fast as it came. He pursed his lips like he was chewing on a lemon rind and leaned against the door frame. “A bit over-the-top, isn’t it?”

Bret gave a wry grin. “I wouldn’t know. I’m just the delivery boy.” Bret waited for the other to take the bouquet from his hands. But the door only opened wider. The delivery boy raised a brow; his head cocked to the side.

“What?” Shawn shrugged; his robe slid down his shoulder as he did so. “You don’t expect me to carry all of that, do you?”

Bret blinked owlishly. Shawn seemed perfectly capable of carrying the order. He gazed at the taut muscle underneath Shawn’s clothes for a moment. And at the drop of a hat, Bret’s eyes stayed pointedly on the blond’s bedroom eyes. “You’re a delivery boy,” Shawn continued. He stepped to the side, his brow in a sly arch, “Go on and deliver.”

Bret frowned and took a wary step. Shawn guided him into the living room, and Bret followed as if God watched him. Cautious and guarded, Bret took each step as if it was his last. The shuffle of carpet slowly replaced the sound of shoes against the wooden floor. And Bret caught himself in the company of lush couches and intricate cabinets as Shawn excused himself to get a vase. He tapped his toe against the white tiger rug underneath him as the chandelier shined above his head. To say Bret felt out of place was an understatement. The living space was lavish, just like everything else in the mansion. Bookshelves as tall as the ceiling covered half of the room, each shelf overflowing with novels and encyclopedias. In the corner was a grand piano, free from dust and fingerprints. Paintings upon paintings hung from the walls, bronze candelabras scattered along the corridors. Bret narrowed his eyes. There were no framed pictures or lightly stained patches on the floor. The house was opulent, but it didn’t seem as lived-in as it should be. His contemplation was interrupted by Shawn’s call.

“Tell me, delivery boy, what do these flowers mean?” He asked as he placed the water-filled vase on the coffee table and situated himself on one of the many chairs in the room. “Don’t they have meanings? The language of flowers and whatnot.”

Bret hesitantly unwrapped the bouquet and propped the roses inside the porcelain vase. He handed the notecard to the blond with a rehearsed smile, “That’s what cards are for.”

“You are so boring.” Shawn stretched on the chair; his legs dangled on its cushioned armrest. “Read the note for me.”

The delivery boy exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. Bret would’ve left ages ago if his father wasn’t so insistent about pleasing their clients. Not wanting to waste any more time, he began to read the card. “Love of my life–”

“Is it too late to return the bouquet?”

Bret couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. The corner of Shawn’s lip quirked up at the sound of his laughter. He twirled a strand of his golden hair between his fingers, “You should rest a bit before you go.” Shawn stood up and strolled towards Bret, “You must be tired.” He brushed his hand against Bret’s forearm and grinned at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I should go, Mr. Layfield–”

“Call me Shawn.” He peeked up at Bret through his lashes, “You’ve got a name, delivery boy?”

“What I do have are other deliveries to do.” Bret felt his cheeks warm as he raised his clipboard and offered the other man a pen, “I need your signature, Mr. Layf– Shawn.”

Shawn pouted, his shoulders sagged as he took the pen and clipboard from Bret’s grasp; their fingers brushed against one another. Bret bit his top lip as Shawn signed the paper with a flourish and gave the clipboard back to him. The delivery boy could feel the tension leave his body; this whole fiasco was finally sealed to a close. “It’s been a pleasure, Shawn.”

The blond took an abrupt step towards Bret’s personal space; their chests flushed together. Shawn tucked the pen behind the other’s ear. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he purred.

The tension left Bret, and his soul might as well follow along with it.

A stormy haze engulfed Bret’s consciousness, and it didn’t clear up until he was seated in his truck. The events that transpired minutes ago replayed in his mind like a broken cassette tape. He combed his fingers through his hair, and the pen balanced behind the shell of his ear fell on the passenger seat beside him. His eyes darted to the clipboard on his lap; the name ‘Shawn Michaels’ written on the signature line mocked him. He glanced at the mansion’s reflection on the crooked rearview mirror, and with the thoughts of Shawn plaguing him, he drove off.

Shawn didn’t cross Bret’s mind again until a week later. He was sat on the counter redoing the messy ribbons Owen hurriedly tied beforehand when his dad lumbered into the shop with a box of lavender colored craft paper in his arms. Bret raised a questioning brow at Owen, and their father placed the box on the counter. “Big order coming up,” the older Hart mused.

Bret could already feel the sleepless hours they will undoubtedly spend making flower arrangements. Owen groaned at the very thought. Their father cleared the counter from leaves and petals, letting them drop to the floor. “Mr. Layfield has a soiree in a week and since he loved our flowers the last time, he wanted us to arrange flowers for it.”

Owen groaned even louder and slouched in his chair. “Hate that guy,” the blonde grumbled under his breath, a sour taste still in his mouth from the last time their rich client last visited them. “That guy is paying for our food on the table, son,” Stu tutted.

As both Harts bickered back and forth, Bret gulped. Bret usually didn’t think of the people he delivered flowers to; their faces stay blurred for the short time they linger in his thoughts. But Shawn, with his not-so-subtle interest and that damned silk robe of his, was the exception.

“I bet his husband didn’t even like the bouquet!” Owen complained. Their father scowled but couldn’t disagree. The younger Hart wrapped his arm around Bret, “Right, Bret? The guy didn’t like it, did he?”

Bret ignored his brother, instead feigning nonchalance with a cross of his arms. He turned to Stu, “Say, do you know anything about Layfield’s husband?” Stu hummed, rummaging through the box he carried in, “The boy got married to Layfield the moment he graduated college. Layfield paraded the young man around like a prized diamond to his even richer friends. That’s about everything people know around here.” Owen butted himself into the conversation, “He doesn’t have good taste, then.” Stu shooed his younger son away with a roll of ribbons.

Bret fiddled with the ends of a flower stem, distracting himself. Stu gave him a knowing look, and Bret shifted his eyes to the lone pair of scissors on the floor, far more interesting than the squinted look of his father at that moment. “His husband is coming here later to discuss decorations. I won’t be here—” Owen clapped his hands, already aware of where their father was hinting at. “Oh, would you look at the time, I should really help Lizzy with the groceries. Okay, bye!” Owen bolted out of the store in a breath, the front door bell jingled when he set foot outside and left his family staring at his retreating form.

Stu clicked his tongue before he fished out his notepad from his back pocket. He handed it to Bret, “Just make sure to keep the customer happy.”

It wasn’t that Bret was avoiding Shawn, far from it. But when presented with the chance to flirt back with a man married to someone who could buy all of Bret’s possessions that he’s had or will ever have, he’d rather steer clear of it. But there was something about Shawn that Bret could not stop thinking about. From the beauty mark underneath his lashes to the way he smirked at Bret’s flustered state, Shawn was beautiful, and he knew it all too well. He seemed to know just the right buttons to press to make Bret second-guess his words. And the Hart was trapped between a rock and a hard place when Shawn finally visited the flower shop, an hour late from schedule.

Looking at Shawn made Bret unconsciously smooth out the wrinkles of his shirt and fix his hair any chance he got. Under Shawn’s gaze, Bret felt awfully small. When Shawn entered the store, he brought in an air of sweetness, the type that makes Bret’s mouth water. It was a nice change from the aroma of flowers, and for once, Bret didn’t have the urge to hide his nose behind his hand. Shawn dressed simply, but with the way he carried himself, it proved otherwise. He was fond of silk, Bret noticed, as his eyes trailed from his silk shirt to the jeans that hugged his waist.

“Hi, delivery boy.”

Bret blinked; his eyes shot back to Shawn’s face. “Welcome, Mr. Layfield,” Bret managed to utter. Shawn pouted, “I told you not to call me that.”

The blonde locked his gaze on the array of flowers behind Bret, his pout melting into a grin. “Those are pretty. I wish I got those bouquets instead.”

Bret turned to where Shawn was staring and laughed, “50 roses not good enough for you?” Shawn smiled, “Not even good to begin with.”

[silverwings22]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 40: The Leader, the Pariah

Series Warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a Chapter Warnings: suicidal ideation, disability, violence, reference to death. grief, guilt, mind control, trauma/PTSD, trauma bonding, alcoholism

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“Can you brood closer to the ship? I’m getting sick of all these stairs.” Shiani hobbled her way down to the beach with Batcher and Omega. Every morning, they made the same trek down a bajillion goddamn steps to check on Crosshair while he tried to get back in practice with his rifle. The persistent shake of his right hand was a constant struggle, and pissed him off frequently. “We brought you caf.” 

Crosshair was using a large rock as a rifle rest, and looked over at her. He liked the siren, she was probably the only friend he had managed to make in his life that wasn’t his brothers. She had a special way of getting on his nerves, though. An almost endearingly smartass way.  “... thanks.” 

Omega tucked herself next to him as Shiani handed him a thermos and pulled out her own, along with her crazy straw. “How’s the training coming?” Shiani asked. 

“Not as well as I’d like.” He muttered, shaking out his right hand. “The droid’s keeping track of my stats.”

She looked out at AZI, who was holding a melon Crosshair had been shooting at. And missing. Tech had said Crosshair never missed a shot, so it was a little heartbreaking to watch him trying to get control of his hand. “Is it getting better?” 

“Not enough.” He sighed. 

Omega looked up at him from where she’d sat, behind the rocks like she was ducking for cover. “You can’t keep hiding, Crosshair.”

“I’m not. This is training.” He huffed at her, getting back in position to line up a shot. 

She didn’t look convinced, raising an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh. So.. what does this require. Besides good eyesight?” 

Shiani was glad to see some things about Omega hadn’t changed, despite the circumstances. She was still naturally curious and wanted to know everything her brothers did, and she certainly saw the soft spot under Crosshair’s rough exterior. 

Crosshair knew what she was doing too, and shook his head. “You want to be a sniper?” 

“I don’t see why I can’t learn it. I’ve learned to disarm explosives, track, and fly a ship.” Omega grinned. 

He just shook his head. “Being a sniper is about more than looking through the scope. It’s about patience, reading the environment, and knowing when you have eyes on you.” He looked up, where he had already clocked Hunter and Wrecker watching them from an overlooking cliffside. “They still don’t trust me.”

Shiani shrugged, taking another exaggerated sip of her caf. “You don’t trust anyone either, Crosshair. It’s an occupational hazard.” 

He gave her a dirty look, but didn’t argue. Omega patted his arm. “Give it time, but you will have to talk to them.” 

Crosshair scoffed, and Shiani leaned on the rock beside him. His hand was clenched, still shaking, and she subtly moved his caf thermos further from the edge so he wouldn’t knock it over. “You know AZI is a medical droid. He could look at your hand.” She said mildly. “He’s pretty good, even if he called me a sea monster on Kamino.”

“If you’re gonna tell me he’s the one who fixed your hip, I’m going to pass.”

“My hip is beyond help. But he did save me from the massive systemic infection that was definitely going to kill me after two weeks of rolling in blood and dirt with an open fracture.” She pointed out. 

Omega made a horrified sound. “Crosshair! You can’t be mean to Shiani like that!”

“It’s fine, Omega. Our friendship is based on being a little bitchy to each other. If he’s too nice, I get suspicious.” Shiani patted Omega’s shoulder gently. The sniper had only been back with them for a couple weeks, but he and Shiani spent a lot of time together. Most of the time, it sounded like they hated each other as they bickered back and forth. But sometimes, like the first night, they would talk honestly and let the other one see the wounded underbellies they both concealed. He wouldn’t discuss details, but he had indicated he’d been tortured on Tantiss, and told her about a kind Commander on a lonely outpost called Barton 4 that had died for no reason but that the Empire was cruel. Shiani would listen, just like she used to listen to Tech, and when he needed a distraction she’d tell him about the things they’d gotten into while he was gone. The Riot Race, the War Chest, the Ipsium mine. 

Omega just frowned at them both. “You’re supposed to be nice.”

“To her? Absolutely not.” Crosshair snorted. 

Shiani snorted, but paused when her ear fin twitched and looked up. “Ship.”

“It’s Echo!” Omega grinned, getting to her feet. “C’mon.” 

“Wait up. I’m slow.” Shiani grumbled. 

“No one told you to skydive without a parachute, squidlett.” Crosshair smirked.

“And no one told you to stick your head in an ion engine, but you came out looking like a fried egg.” She snipped back, but there was no venom to it. 

He helped her up the steps faster than she could have made it herself, in time for them to watch Echo step out of his ship. Shiani couldn’t help but smile as Omega ran full speed into his arms, and the half-metal veteran dropped to his knees to hug his little sister. “Good to see you, kid.” 

He looked up as Shiani hobbled over. They’d spoken over comm, but he hadn’t seen her since Eriadu, and his eyes widened when he got a good look at her. “Hi Echo.” She smiled weakly, pretending the look didn’t register. She got the look all the time, the mix of shock and pity that made her feel like an exhibit.

“Shiani… hey. You doing okay?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” She tapped his metal shin with her cane lightly. “How’s the arm?”

“It’s holding up fine. I haven’t managed to break it.” He relaxed a little, recovering from the shock of seeing her as she was. 

“No hug for me?” Crosshair said dryly, walking up behind her. 

“Depends on how good your intel is.” He huffed, and Crosshair clicked his tongue and looked away with a chastened expression. 

Shiani rolled her eyes at the tension between Crosshair and the others, not quite understanding how it got to this point. Yes, the sniper had done some pretty nasty stuff to them as a group, but they knew about the chips. Hunter seemed so suspicious and Echo so angry… she wanted to swat them both and remind them what they’d lost to get Crosshair. That Tech had thought he was worth saving. That they were a family, and needed to act like it. 

She doubted the stubborn men would listen, so she just looked at Omega. “Come on, we’ll go sit. If they want to keep glaring at each other, you can debrief me.”

Omega nodded, walking over with the siren as she headed for the long outdoor table they usually ate at. There was an empty seat, even with Crosshair and Echo there, that Shiani sat beside. 

Omega had the most information, dropping everything she could remember about Tantiss. Crosshair didn’t have as much to offer, having been confined to a cell, but he told what he could. Shiani just listened, ignoring the meal set out for them and sipping her drink while trying to mentally build an image of Tantiss. It sounded impenetrable, between the savage jungle creatures, hounds, guards, and sensors. When she reached over to give Batcher a scratch, she caught Crosshair feeding the hound under the table with a shaky hand. 

Omega set the datapad she’d stolen on the table. “Would this help?”

“The encryption is going to be difficult… especially without Tech.” Echo said, tensely glancing at Shiani. She took another swallow from her cup and looked at the tabletop. 

“There might be a work around that.” Crosshair said quietly. “It would open without decryption if plugged into an Imperial terminal.”

“You got one in mind?” Wrecker frowned.

“I know of a facility. Remote, understaffed, it wouldn’t be a problem to infiltrate.” He shrugged. 

“Then Echo, Crosshair, and I will go to this based. Wrecker, you stay here with Omega and Shiani.” Hunter started. 

Omega bristled. “We just got back together and you want to split us up?”

Hunter shook his head. “It's because we just got you back we can’t risk you getting captured again, Omega. It’s safer this way.” 

“I left those clones back on Tantiss, and I have to save them. I need to do this, Hunter.” The little blonde said firmly. 

Shiani was both incredibly proud and a little worried that Omega would spiral into the same reckless self destruction she’d watched from Hunter for the last few months. Hunter looked at her. “She listens to you, Shiani. Back me up.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Bad idea to split the group, again. We should all go. Better chance of keeping Omega safe if we’re all there to protect her.” She couldn’t stop thinking about when she and Tech had climbed up onto the overhead rail, splitting the group. Getting separated. Falling. Her hands twitched, knocking her drink over, and she hissed softly and picked up a napkin to start cleaning up the mess before it dripped all over Echo, despite it soaking into her leggings. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” He frowned, giving her his napkin too. 

“Yeah, just slipped.” She sopped up what he’d initially thought was juice, and he frowned when he caught the scent of something bitter. 

“We’ll take my ship.” He told Hunter. “Shiani, go get changed?”

She nodded, untangling herself from the bench and heading for the Marauder.

Once she was out of earshot, Echo looked at Hunter. “Has she been acting… different… since you guys found Omega?”

Hunter nodded. “She sleeps a lot more.” 

“And I can’t remember the last time I saw her eat something. She just drinks caf in the morning, and juice the rest of the day.” Wrecker frowned. 

Omega and Crosshair exchanged looks, neither one of them having any frame of reference for what she’d been like between the fall and their rescue.

“This smell weird to you?” Echo tossed Hunter one of the napkins, and Hunter didn’t even have to bring it to his face to realize what the smell was. 

“Liquor.” Hunter’s eye twitched. “I swear to Manda if she’s drinking while flying my ship-

“We haven’t moved the ship since we got here.” Wrecker shook his head, putting a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “And we didn’t have any alcohol on the ship before. You remember how slim the supplies were getting.”

Hunter grumbled. “What the fuck is she doing then? She said she didn’t even like alcohol on Ord Mantell…”

Omega frowned, looking after the direction Shiani had gone with a furrowed brow. Crosshair just glanced around at them like he didn’t quite understand what the confusion was. “... is that really a question?” 

Hunter glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s in constant pain? Why wouldn’t she be drinking? It takes the edge off.” Crosshair looked between the sergeant and Wrecker. “... wait, did you two not know?”

“She said it stopped hurting after she’d had the brace for a while…” Wrecker frowned. 

“Did she? Or did she stop complaining about it?” Echo raised an eyebrow. “Because, from experience, even an amputation hurts for a long time after. I still had issues after Skako, and I’d been a POW almost a year.” 

Hunter frowned. “Why the hell did she tell you, not us? She barely knows you.” He muttered to Crosshair. 

Crosshair shook his head, knowing he was inches from saying something spectacularly bitter that was going to end in a fistfight between him and Hunter. One of the worst things about knowing Hunter as well as he used to was that they both knew how to cut to the quick when they were angry. And it had been so long that the only thing Crosshair was sure he still knew about Hunter was how to piss him off. 

He just got up and headed back to the Marauder himself, to check on the siren.

She’d made it out of her brace and leggings, and was sitting on the floor buckling herself into a new pair of overalls Phee had gifted her when they’d come back to Pabu. They had a yellow pocket on the front. “You good?” Crosshair muttered from the door of the hold.

“Spooked myself.” She sighed. “I don’t want us to split up again… the last time we did, it was me and Tech and it didn’t end well.” She finished buckling the overalls and started trying to get her boots back on. 

Crosshair knelt down to help her lace them, shaking his head. “And the liquor in your juice wasn’t related at all?”

She huffed. “I didn’t even finish the glass.” 

“What about the one before that?”

“That was my caf. I don’t put anything else in my caff but cream. And sugar, lots of sugar.” She crossed her arms, annoyed she needed him to tie her shoes. 

“You’re lying.” He eyed her. “Don’t lie to me.”

“And how would you know if I was lying?”

“Your suction cups pucker when you lie. I’m a sniper, I’m observant.”

She sighed, sinking back against the wall. “Fine. I put it in the caf too.”

“Why?”

“I’m a grown siren, and I’m not flying the ship. I don’t have to explain myself.” She huffed. 

“You either explain to me, or I’ll tell Hunter you’re too drunk to go on this mission.” He threatened, giving her the famous clone point she’d seen Tech give all of his brothers when they were getting on his last nerve. 

She hissed at him, teeth bared, but they both knew she wasn’t going to bite. “I dunno, Crosshair. Maybe because my mate dying, his body being stolen by the Empire, my hip and leg being permanently fucked, and living on an island surrounded by an ocean that I can’t swim in are all painful, and alcohol is numbing?” 

“Why the fuck can’t you swim? You’ve got gills.” He poked her in the side. 

“I swear to the Harmony I’m going to bite you.” She swatted at his hand. “I can’t change shape anymore, it hurts too much. And I can’t get in the water with the brace, it’s metal. It’ll pull me straight to the bottom. And I can’t get to the water without it. I love the surface, but not being able to swim at all as a siren is unnatural.” 

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “How long have you been drinking?”

“You’re so nosy.”

“How long, squidlett?” He helped her to her feet and held her steady while she put her brace back on. 

“When we got back. There’s a store down by the pier… the owner likes me, cause we saved his daughter in the sea surge when we first arrived. He gives me whatever I ask for under a certain amount.” She picked up her cane. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

“You’re hurting you.”

“I get drunk and take naps, Crosshair. I’m the least problematic adult in the squad right now, between you and Hunter snarling at each other and Wrecker’s anxiety.” She shuffled towards the ramp unhappily, running her free hand back through her headtresses.

“You probably don’t want to hear this, but you know this isn’t what Tech would want for you.” Crosshair sighed.

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it.” She swallowed hard. Bitterness bloomed like algae in her chest. She wanted Tech to be proud of her, but also she was having a hard time surviving the day to day of waking up without him and trapped in a body that’s check-hull-integrity lights were constantly on. Comfort wasn’t forthcoming, so she had to find her own. If it came in a bottle of burning liquid she could dump into her morning caf to blunt the razor’s edge of pain… was that really the end of the galaxy? She’d never risk anyone by flying afterward. Wasn’t that responsible enough? 

“At least take a coat.” Crosshair rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s cold where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” She paused at the bunkroom door, before ducking inside and going for Tech’s footlocker, where his cold-weather gear was stored. Maybe it would still smell like him. 

“Barton 4.” He sighed. 

Shiani’s head poked back out of the bunkroom. “The place where your friend died?”

“Yeah.”

Now Shiani looked concerned, and leaned on the bunkroom doorframe. “... You going to be okay for this?”

“Asks the alcoholic cephalopod.” He snorted.

“Don’t make me regret caring. Are you?”

“I’ll let you know when we’re there. Now go grab something from the cooler and eat it, so you sober up before we get there. You’re going to need to be on your game, there’s bandits.”

She nodded. “Fine.” 

When the rest of the family walked over from an impromptu family meeting, Shiani was sitting on the ramp eating a ration bar and slice of fruit, while Crosshair watched her with a very forceful look. She waved at Omega when the girl got to her. “He made me eat breakfast.” 

Hunter looked more annoyed, and went into the ship to get his gear. Wrecker just gently patted Shiani’s head. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She patted his hand back. This time, he wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he went inside to start getting his gear as well. 

Omega was still frustrated about Hunter trying to leave them behind, and went over to where Crosshair was now digging through a crate looking for something passable he could wear in cold weather. The sniper glanced up. “Don’t… give Hunter too hard of a time. He’s only trying to protect you.”

“You think I should stay behind too?” She crossed her arms. “Or Shiani? I thought you two were friends now.”

“We are… I think. But she’s got a lot going on. And you’re capable, but you’re still a kid.” He shook his head. 

“I’m older than you are, little brother.” Omega smirked. 

Crosshair paused, a sort of faint smile inching over his lips as he looked at her. She’d definitely saved him… 

Wrecker stuck his head out of the ship. “Hey, Crosshair. I got something for you.” He walked down the ramp with a case in hand. “Hopefully it still fits, but it never felt right to get rid of it…” 

Crosshair opened the dust-covered case and froze, looking at neatly arranged black and red armor. He hadn’t seen it in so long… Every bit of dirt outside the case came tracked in on his brother’s boots from missions he hadn’t been a part of. And he could have been… should have been. “My old armor.”

Shiani had put on her own chest plate on and was adjusting her leg brace with a wrench, listening to them. Omega still brought out the best in people… she loved that about her. Omega was the best kind of friend. Everyone should have an Omega in their lives, and the galaxy would have been a better place. A place without war or an Empire, where everyone tried to do right, and no one got shot off of rails and had to fall to the ground below. 

Omega walked over and offered her a hand up. “Leg okay?”

“Yeah. Just adjusting the tension sensor here. It should mean I won’t need the cane as much.” The siren smiled, and they headed after Crosshair onto Echo’s ship. The Remora was a little roomier on the inside, and set up like a mobile intelligence base. 

Tech would have loved it.

Omega tucked herself next to Shiani as Hunter and Wrecker talked to Echo up in the cockpit, watching the siren still adjusting her knee sensor. She wanted to ask a thousand things about what was going on with her, worried about her friend, but she wondered if questioning the siren would make it worse. Shiani glanced at her from the corner of her eye, sensing the trepidation building inside the girl. “You have questions.” 

“... is asking going to make things worse for you?” Omega frowned, examining the scars studding the tentacle draped across the siren’s lap. 

“No. Questions don’t change circumstances.” Shiani shook her head, tapping the sensor under her hands with her claw. “What I need is a control array like Echo’s headpiece, but I can’t program that on my own.” Tech could have, she wanted to finish. 

“Are you really drinking a lot?” Omega immediately jumped into asking.

“A lot is subjective. But you’d probably think it was.” Shiani nodded. 

“You don’t like alcohol.”

“That’s not a question.” Shiani glanced over. 

“Okay, why are you drinking if you don't like alcohol?”

“It dulls the senses and makes you forget. That’s what I want.” Shiani shrugged. 

“How come you didn’t tell Hunter and Wrecker about it?”

Shiani bit her lip lightly. “... because Hunter just got you back. I don’t want to ruin that for him. And if Hunter’s relaxing some, maybe Wrecker will. He was holding Hunter together while you were gone… you’re very loved, Omega.”

“But you told Crosshair. Why? You guys just met a couple weeks ago.”

Shiani sighed. “That’s complicated.” 

“Explain it to me.” Omega put patient hands on the siren’s arm, stopping her moving screwdriver and demanding her attention. Shiani had never had it in her to deny her little friend much of anything, especially now that Omega wasn’t so little anymore. She was approaching the point of being their equal, commanding respect on the squad the way a growing siren child would work up through the ranks of their hunting party. Shiani was so proud of her… and so frustrated that she was catching on to the complexity of grief and agony. 

Shiani rubbed her free hand down her face quietly, fingers dancing over the scar on her cheek. “I hurt, Omega.” She finally said softly. “Outside, inside, everywhere. I can’t get away from it… I know the guys hurt too, but Tech said Crosshair understood him better than any brother. And even though I’ve only known him a short time, I think he understands me too. The others… love so loud when things are good, and grieve so quiet when they’re bad. They don’t even say Tech’s name most of the time… They try to move on, I guess. But I need someone to linger in the sadness with me… Crosshair can’t escape the pain either, so he understands.”

Omega stared at her for a long moment, thinking of every day in Tantiss where she’d talk to Crosshair. He listened, sometimes numbly, to her harebrained plans for escape and refusal to leave him. She couldn’t unhear the day he’d told her to leave him, lying through his teeth that he’d leave her in a heartbeat to try to convince her to free herself successfully. He’d said he deserved to be in that awful place… He couldn’t escape the pain, like Shiani said. 

She put her blonde head on the siren’s shoulder. “Does it ever get any better?”

“I don’t know.” Shiani sighed. “I hope it does, because I don’t know how long I can do this.” She had to be honest with her, a quiet cry for help. “I don’t want to be like this anymore, Omega… but I don’t know how to stop.” It wasn’t totally true, she did know how to make it stop. But that meant dying, and she didn’t think she could put her family through that again. It was the only thing she was holding onto anymore.  

“I’m going to help you. I promise.” Omega wrapped her arms around the siren’s middle and squeezed, three times. It was the first time in a long time she’d experienced the gesture, and she wrapped her arms desperately around the girl and buried her face in Omega’s hair.

“Thank you.” She whispered. Omega just snuggled her and they sat like that for a long time, until the ship came to set down on the snowy landscape of Barton 4. “Put your coat on.” Shiani murmured. “Crosshair says it’s cold here.”

Omega nodded, and Shiani slipped on her own coat. It was one of Tech’s, too big for her but lined with cold-weather fluff. It did smell like him still, faintly but enough to be comforting. 

She steadied herself and got up, following Omega off the ship. Crosshair followed them, tugging at the collar of his blacks under his old armor. “So it does still fit.” Wrecker grinned. “You weren’t kidding about this place being remote. How’d you even know about it?”

“My last mission for the Empire.” Crosshair said noncommittally, and Omega glanced between him and Shiani as she mulled over what the siren had said. She suspected that Shiani had already heard the full story.

“Scanner is showing no head signatures. It’s totally empty.” Echo looked at Hunter, who rounded on the sniper.

“You said this place was understaffed, not totally abandoned. What else aren’t you telling us?” Hunter demanded. 

“I was in prison for months. Things change, and I wasn’t privy to most of them. You think they gave intelligence briefs in my cell?” Crosshair sneered, the same resentful anger building back in his chest. If Hunter hadn’t left him the first time, when the chip went off, he wouldn’t have had to explain himself now. He’d never have been here at this outpost, he’d never have shot the Lieutenant, he’d have never been sent to Tantiss, no one would have ignored his Plan 88 warning to try a rescue mission that got Tech killed and Shiani maimed, Omega never would have been captured-

Shiani tapped his chest plate. “Stop. What’s that noise?” Her ear fins were flickering everywhere, trying to find the source of a high-pitched and extremely annoying sound that made her want to throw something. Batcher was also whining at her side, like she heard it too.

Hunter pointed at a proximity sensor. “These put off a high-frequency sound. What are the sensors for, Crosshair?”

“To warn about bandits coming from the mountainside. They were all dealt with when I was here last.” Crosshair shrugged.

“Dealt with how?” Hunter demanded. Omega and Shiani exchanged glances with Wrecker and Echo at just how hard the sergeant was going for Crosshair today. Maybe he was a little extra raw knowing Shiani was having her own crisis and hadn’t told him, but it really didn’t seem fair. 

“Guess. If you’re scared, stay on the ship.” Crosshair finally fired back, unable to keep the cool he’d tried to hold onto thus far. 

Hunter cocked a fist like it was about to get physical, but Echo was quick to get between them. He wasn’t the highest ranking clone, but he was the oldest brother. Sometimes little brothers needed wrangling, and he was good for it. “Can you two kill each other later? We’re here for reason.” 

Hunter sighed. “Fine by me.” He turned and headed for the base, fists tight at his sides as he fought the urge to turn around and strangle the truth out of Crosshair. How the fuck was he supposed to trust him if he was withholding information? He still didn’t even know why Crosshair had been captured on Tantiss! For all he knew, this was an elaborate setup to catch the elite commando unit they’d once been and force them back into Imperial service. Or worse.

Omega looked at Crosshair with a groan. “I said talk to him, not argue with him.” 

“He started it.” The sniper grumbled, and Omega rolled her eyes and walked off. Shiani shifted her weight to her right and put her hand on her good hip, in the time-honored tradition of smartassery and sass that was living among clones. “What?” Crosshair sighed. 

“You two are so alike sometimes.” She sighed.

“I should shoot you in the other leg for that.” He grumbled, and they started after Omega.

“So you can miss?” She snorted.

“Listen here, you little shit.” 

“I don’t even listen to him, and he outranks you. When are you two going to quit bitching at each other, anyway? He’s your brother, you love him.”

“What gave you that idea? Our touching reunion over Ryloth?” He grumbled, wishing what she was saying was true. There had been a time he’d been much more secure in his relationship with his brothers, but that time had passed long ago. 

“Tech told me. And he was seldom wrong.” Shiani didn’t look at him when she said it, but she sounded confident. Tech had known, he always knew. She had to trust the knowledge that he’d left her.

Crosshair tensed, but nodded quietly as they got to the door. Wrecker was pushing at the dense-packed snow, but when Crosshair clicked his tongue Batcher pushed up and started digging through with much more ease. Once they got through, Wrecker shoved the doors open with his strength. The lights above flickered when they got inside, and Hunter frowned. “The power’s pretty shaky in here.”

“There’s the terminal.” Omega nodded, and Echo walked over to plug himself in.

“The power’s been depleted to maintain those proximity sensors. I’ll need to reroute it to the main facility in order to do this. Gimme a minute.” 

While he and a helpful Omega rerouted the power, Crosshair wandered into another room. Shiani frowned, following as unobtrusively as possible, and found him picking up a set of reg helmets off the floor and carefully arranging them on top of a crate. She limped over to stand beside him, watching him as he took his own helmet to look at them. “Your friend?” She murmured. 

“Commander Mayday.” He nodded. “I figured they’d just throw this back in here… they didn’t give a damn. That’s why I had to get out… my loyalty didn’t mean anything to them.”

Shiani nodded, looking at the formation of helmets led by one wrapped in cloth. “You said he died, but not what happened.” Her ear twitched, hearing Hunter leaning in the doorway and listening. Crosshair hadn’t noticed, and she hoped this would clue Hunter in a little. Or at least teach him how to talk to Crosshair again. 

“He didn’t leave me. I stepped on a pressure mine, he could have left me for dead. I would have left him, if it had been reversed. But he didn’t… he saved my life. Then we got into an avalanche, looking for cargo the bandits took. Just armor for the TK troopers… not worth dying over. I dragged him back here, but the Lieutenant said Mayday wasn’t worth the resources to save. I shot him.” He squared his shoulders. “That’s how I ended up on Tantiss to start off with.”

“Loyalty means everything to the clones.” Shiani said dutifully. “Tech used to say that…”

Crosshair nodded. “Yeah. I guess… that’s why I didn’t take it well when they left me on Kamino.” 

“You did shoot at us.” She pointed out. 

“I know… I couldn’t help it, with the chip. But I never really got over it.” 

“Tech never got over it either…” Shiani sighed. “I don’t think the others did, either. They still loved you.”

“Love isn’t the same as loyalty.” Crosshair muttered quietly. “They weren’t loyal to me.”

She lightly punched him in the side, fist pinging off his armor without enough force to hurt him but certainly enough to make him wobble on his feet. “As soon as we knew you weren’t there by your own will, we went looking for you. What’s more loyal than Tech dying to try to bring you home?”

Crosshair paused, looking at the siren’s annoyed little face. “So maybe Tech was. But Hunter wasn’t going to keep looking once he found Omega, if he found her without me.” 

“Hunter’s trying to protect the people he’s got left.” Shiani waved a claw under his nose. “I wasn’t going to give up, after we found Omega. And I told you, it’s my ship.” 

“You didn’t even know me, squidlett.” 

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the helmets in front of them. “Neither did Mayday.” 

That shut him up, and he looked at her with a surprised expression. When she spotted Hunter backing out of the doorway, she waved for Crosshair to come back out to the front room with her. Hopefully that meant Hunter had heard enough…

They walked back and Crosshair, ever uncomfortable with his own feelings, headed for the door. “Where are you going?” Hunter grumbled. 

“To check the perimeter.” Crosshair walked out. 

Shiani sighed and looked at Hunter. “Stow it.” He grumbled and went after Crosshair. 

“Well, that went well.” Shiani huffed. 

Echo sighed. “Let them work it out. They always do. C’mere and help me look at this.”

She nodded and limped over, leaning over his shoulder. “Mostly medical information.” She said after a minute. “No data on the location.” She sounded just as disappointed as Echo felt. “But there’s a lot of clones held there.” Her finger touched the holo, distorting the list of CT numbers. She could see Tech’s face, horrified and wide eyed, when they’d found out Crosshair was among that list. He’d been so determined to save him… 

“Not what I was hoping for, but I’ll transfer everything before the power shuts down out here.” Echo nodded. 

Shiani hobbled to the doorway and watched. Hunter and Crosshair were talking, but it looked more like an argument. She crossed her arms, leaning on the wall as she watched, Omega walking over to her. “You think they’ll ever make up?” Omega sighed.

“Can’t figure out why they haven’t yet.” Shiani muttered. It felt like neither one of them appreciated Tech’s sacrifice, and she knew it wasn’t true but she still wanted to punch them both. They were supposed to be a family! They needed each other-

Her ears twitched again. “Something’s coming. Echo, is that data transfer done?”

“Yeah, just finishing up.” Echo unplugged his datastick and scomp link. “Why?”

“Something-” The ground under their feet rumbled. “Something big…” 

Hunter had shoved Crosshair, and the sniper had a fist cocked back to just finally slug his brother in the face when the snow behind them exploded upwards. A giant serpentine ice wyrm roared, charging them aggressively. They both took off, running for the outpost as fast as they could as the territorial and angry creature flipped the Remora into the snow. Shiani pushed just outside the door as they ran past, sucking in a breath and screaming at the charging beast, who changed directions and disappeared beneath the ice. 

“What the hell is that thing?” Hunter muttered, sitting up from where he and Crosshair had ended up on the floor. 

“Wyrm.” Echo sighed. “We can’t dig the ship out with that thing running around.”

“The proximity sensors must have been keeping it away.” Omega frowned. 

“We can reroute the power back to them, but unless we get it outside of the perimeter it’s just going to be trapped in here with us.” Echo grumbled. “And to reroute the power we’ll have to manually reset it.”

“The fuse box for the reserve grid is outside and around the back.” Crosshair muttered. “Someone will have to flip the power breaker.”

“I can go.” Wrecker offered.

“Still gotta chase the wyrm away.” Shiani frowned, still standing in the doorway. “It didn’t like my scream, but I can’t outrun it if it charges.”

“I’ll lure it outside of the perimeter.” Crosshair muttered.

“Not alone.” Hunter shot him a look. 

Shiani gritted her teeth, eyes lighting on a small snow speeder sitting half buried in the snow. “You two lure it. I’ll meet you at the perimeter line and cover your escape until the sensors come back on.” 

“I’ll cover you from the tower.” Echo said firmly, nodding to Omega. “Guide Wrecker on the comms and get the sensors back up on their signal.” 

They separated in a rush, Shiani diving onto the speeder and dragging it out of the snow. It was only rusted, she could fix it in just a few minutes, she just needed that few minutes-

She glanced up as she worked, spotting the wyrm chasing after Wrecker and ignoring the two it was supposed to be after. “Why is it always a huge monster!” Wrecker wailed in the comm.

Shiani pushed the speeder up and screamed again, diverting the wyrms attention. It redirecting, coming after her, until a couple blaster shots hit it and distracted it again. Finally, it was going after Crosshair and Hunter, who took off as fast as they could. She went back to banging the rust off the engine hurriedly. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“I’m in the breaker room. What am I looking for, Omega?” Wrecker asked. 

Shiani flipped from their comm frequency to Hunter and Crosshair’s, coming back in to the continuation of their argument. 

“Take the tunnel. We’ll try to find a weak point from up here.”

“You’ll try!?”

“Glad you heard me properly.” 

She rolled her eyes, kicking the clutch on the speeder and it finally roared to life. She slung her bad leg up as much as she could and dragged herself up by the handlebars, gunning it for the perimeter. “Crosshair, where’s Hunter?”

“He fell in a hole.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” She groaned, and revved the engine harder as she aimed for the sniper. They were past the perimeter, she just had to cover their escape. That was her job, to protect her family. Protect Tech’s brothers.

In her ear, she heard Crosshair screaming Hunter’s name as he slammed his rifle against the ice to try to break through. When he was scared, he sounded just like Tech-

He’d pulled Hunter up and they were running for their lives with Batcher, heading for the perimeter. It was hundreds of yards away, and Shiani sped past them on the speeder and banked hard, putting herself between the clones and the wyrm. She sucked in a breath and shrieked, stopping it in its tracks while she put it in reverse and started backing towards the proximity sensors, buying the guys time to get to safety. When they crossed the perimeter, she hit the throttle again and revved backwards through the safety of the loud sensors. 

The wyrm growled while Batcher barked, like she was taunting the creature, and slid back into the hole it had come from. The ground rumbling became fainter, and when it was gone Shiani looked over at the two brothers. 

They’d both taken their helmets off and were looking at each other, both wide eyed at the near-death experience. Slowly, their panting faded and they both looked at Shiani, who furiously scrubbed her eyes on her hand. “You two okay?” She muttered, as Batcher left Crosshair’s side and came over to beg for scritches by headbutting her good knee lightly. 

Hunter nodded. “Are you?”

The siren scrubbed at her face a little harder, trying to both hide she was tearing up and disguise her mouth with her forearm. “You two almost died.” She muttered. “And you hadn’t even made up yet. Can you quit being jerks to each other? I know all those bad things happened, but… we’re finally all back together like Tech wanted…” 

The two brothers looked at each other again. Hunter looked a little guilty, thinking over how Crosshair had immediately volunteered to put himself in danger for the squad to lure the wyrm away, and had pulled him out of the hole and saved his life. 

Crosshair couldn’t stop thinking about how terrified he’d been when he thought Hunter was going to get killed in front of him. He got up first and offered Hunter his hand, helping the sergeant to his feet before glancing back at the mountains. The last time he’d walked to the outpost with this as a backdrop and a brother beside him, it had been a nightmare… but this time, there was a better reception at the end of the walk. 

He and Hunter both walked over to Shiani and flanked the speeder, putting a hand each on her shoulder. “Hey. We’re good now.” Hunter said gently. “It’s okay.” 

She nodded, a crackling sob wracking her shoulders. Crosshair wrapped a hand around the throttle, and they turned the speeder around and walked alongside it with her on board, Batcher following as they headed back to the outpost at a walk. Shiani got her sniffling under control after a minute and looked over at them.

Crosshair gave her a look. “You good, squidlett?” 

She nodded. “You just … sound like him, when you’re scared.”

Hunter winced, ready to change the subject, but Crosshair didn’t let him. “Yeah? Who said I was scared?”

“You were scared, you jerk.” She huffed, wiping her cheeks again. 

“Clearly you never heard Tech scream when Wrecker startled him. He did this hand-flap thing, especially when we were cadets. Sounded like a girl. Wrecker kicked in a door to the Cyber Center on Anaxes and I thought Tech was going to summon every droid for ten klicks.” 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “... he used to do the hand flaps with me. When I showed him I could shapeshift… and when I told him I had three hearts. But he teased me for clapping when I got excited…” 

Hunter looked bamboozled at how easily she talked about Tech, but they made it back to the hangar grounds as Wrecker ran up and pulled him and Crosshair into a tight hug.

Shiani watched with a sad look on her face and reversed, backing up and going around to give them their moment. She rode over to Omega, who looked at her. “We should take that speeder with us. You could use it on missions.”

Shiani smiled faintly. “I’d have to adjust the thrusters for difficult terrain…”

“You love stuff like that.” Omega pointed out. “It would give you something to do around the island.”

Echo nodded. “You’d have to be sober to do it, though.”

Shiani wrinkled her nose. “Maybe…” She looked over as the three brothers started walking back to them. “At least they’re not fighting anymore.”

“And I don’t even see any blood this time.” Echo chuckled, and Omega started to smile until the sentence processed and she did a double take at the corporal.

Still walking back, Hunter looked at Crosshair. “... How’d you do that, with Shiani?” 

“She’s dying to talk about him.” Crosshair said quietly. “Trying to tiptoe around it… doesn’t work for her. It just makes her feel like she’s by herself grieving for him.”

Hunter didn’t ask about Mayday, though he’d heard enough to understand that Crosshair knew more about how the siren felt than he let on. When they got back to the others, Omega had climbed onto Shiani’s speeder and was holding onto the siren as she rode her around in little circles. 

“Let’s get digging.” Hunter sighed, glancing at the Remora. It was going to take forever to get it out of the snow and turned back right way up.

The ride back to Pabu was quiet, with Shiani having been convinced to bring the speeder to work on. Omega had fallen asleep leaning against Crosshair, who sat stock still with not even his toothpick moving lest he wake her up. That meant Hunter and Wrecker could go talk to Shiani. 

The siren had her leg stuck out, rubbing the thigh quietly as she wished she’d had the forethought to get a flask to keep on herself. When she heard the brothers come back from the cockpit, her eyes flicked up. “Everything okay?” She frowned. They both looked so serious.

“We need to talk to you.” Wrecker sat down beside her, Hunter on the other side of the row of secure seats. 

“... Is it because I cried? I’m sorry, I know you don’t like-” She started, flushing blue and embarrassed she’d broken down in front of the soldiers. Only Tech had been the one she could cry in front of. He understood-

“Shiani.” Hunter put a hand on her arm. “It’s about the drinking.”

She shrank back, shoulders and tentacles curling in defensively. “I’d never do it on the Marauder.” 

“We’re not worried about that. We’re worried about you.” Wrecker said kindly. “You don’t even like alcohol.” 

“Cross said you were in more pain than you were letting on.” Hunter tried to get her to look at him with no avail. “You didn’t tell us.”

“You had too much to deal with. Omega was missing… She’s your world, Hunter. I know that.” Shiani mumbled. “Once she was safe, I thought I could deal with it myself…” 

“You don’t have to deal with anything by yourself. We’re a squad. A family.” He sighed. “I know we… haven’t talked about Tech like we should have. Like you needed us too. It was one crisis to the next after Eriadu, with Omega being taken and you coming back so badly hurt…”

“And we thought it would make it harder for you.” Wrecker explained. 

She finally looked up, glancing between the two of them slowly. “Nothing can make it harder, guys… sirens almost never remarry. That’s it for me… one heart is dead, I guess.” She touched her chest. “Sometimes it feels like it really is, you know. Especially when you guys don’t talk about it… and he’s never coming back. I don’t know… what I’m supposed to do. The future isn't’ somewhere I care about going anymore.” 

Wrecker and Hunter looked anxiously at each other over her head. The heavyweight was the first to speak, carefully putting his hand on her back, His fingers spanned her shoulderblades. “You wanna die too, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She gasped painfully. “I’m just… I can’t bring myself to do it myself. It would hurt you guys. You’re the only thing I’ve got to love now. My own gods sent me back from the brink of death and took Tech away from me, and I don’t know why. You guys need him more than you’d ever need me…” Admitting she wanted death almost felt relieving after so long bottling it up inside. “I met gods, guys. And they didn’t believe in me.” 

Wrecker rubbed her back. “We do need you, Shiani. You’re a part of the family. Please don’t you leave us too.” His voice cracked a little, and she looked at him. There were tears in his good eye, and she swallowed the lump in her throat painfully. 

“We lost Tech too… I’m sorry we didn't show it enough.” Hunter murmured. “But we can’t lose you too. You’re our sister, just like Omega.” 

Shiani crumpled, burying her face into Wrecker’s chest plate and crying bitterly. Every day over the last months since Eriadu just escaped, and when Hunter leaned in and squished her in the middle of them she could finally grieve what they’d all been through together. The loss, the search, the months of exhaustion and fear of Omega’s fate while they crossed the galaxy five different times, every failed lead and night spent too miserably anxious to sleep. The three of them had lived like that for months, and even elite clone commandos and princesses of underwater kingdoms had a breaking point. They found it wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“I miss Tech.” Shiani whispered after a long time, when the tears had stopped and she thought maybe they had crushed her wayward soul back into the faulty body it escaped from. “I wish he was here.”

“Us too.” Hunter whispered. “All of us.” 

[peakyblindas]

Summer Haze (Tommy Shelby x OFC)

Tommy visits Berkley House one summers afternoon, looking for Fawn and reflects on the woman he once called his.

Tagging: @evita-shelby @zablife

Tommy Shelby always felt unwelcome at Barkley House, He felt as if he’d jumped the fence and snuck into someone else's land and that at any moment he would be shot for trespassing.

“Fi here?” 

He asked, glancing around at the foyer of the house, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of him, Matthew Dormer tried his best to be nice to Tommy, but in his eyes, Tommy could see the hatred, he respected him for at least pretending, he supposed.

“Out in the grounds, shooting I think.”

How a girl like Fawn O’Hart ended up married to a man like Dormer, Tommy would never understand, he was all bright eyed and golden haired, he was raised with all the privileges Fawn and he never had, he was from a completely other world and at one time, Fawn would have spat on his marbled floors and threatened to burn this house down.

Dormer gestured with a paint stained hand, his fingertips were purple, stained, Did he know how stained his wife's hands were with blood? 

“If you go to the stables, Mel can help you saddle up one of the horses..It's far quicker and less muddy than walking.”

Tommy repressed a eye roll, Dormer was such a saint, taking on Fawn’s daughter, Melody, the girls Father was a American, died in a fire before she was even born, but Saint Matthew had officially adopted her when he and Fawn married, he didn’t even care she was half black, it was amazing he didn’t have a halo on his head.

“Aight..” Tommy cleared his throat “Thanks.”

Melody was a good girl, got her Mother’s good nature and wit, she was smart and loved horses, was a natural with them too.

“Uncle Tommy?” She asked as they trotted out of the stables 

“Yes, love?”

“Do you think I can train racehorses one day?”

“Of course, you’re a natural with ‘em, horses are good to folk who are good to them.”

“Mummy says you know a trainer, a Ms. Carleton.” 

“Yes I know Ms. Carleton, she trained one of my horses for me.”

“Would you introduce me to her?”

Tommy laughed, eleven years old and already making connections for future employment, she was Fawn’s daughter all right.

“Of course.”  

They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Melody stopped and Tommy copied

“Mum’s over there, I’m gonna take Galahad to the orchid.” She patted the horse's black mane “It was nice seeing you, Uncle.”

“You too, take care of yourself, alright?”

She nodded and smiled, it was Fawn’s smile, Dottie had inherited it too, As Melody rode away, Tommy found himself hoping that all Dottie had inherited from him was his eyes, God knows he had nothing else to offer her.

Fawn was behind a hill facing a lake, wearing a long black dress that fluttered in the midday breeze, Tommy watched as she raised a rifle and followed a flock of birds, before shooting, one of the birds fell to the floor, dead as a stone.

The wind caught in her hair, long and jet black, she walked through the grass, he remembered when they used to hunt pigeons.

God he loved her, more than anyone else he’d ever claimed to love, she was perfect in every way, she understood him more than anyone, she’d touched his soul with her bare hands and he’d stupidly pushed her away.

She picked up the dead bird and held it by its neck, she rested the rifle on her shoulder and turned, she saw him, and waved the bird, beaming from cheek to cheek, it hurt him to know he wasn’t the real cause of that smile, not really.

“Thomas!” She greeted “Fancy staying for dinner?”

“Of course.” He replied “No place I’d rather be.”

[penitent-stranger]

(Jan 05-06) - Used As Bait / Stumbling / "This is gonna hurt" 

special thanks to @darthcoakley for his help on this one heehee

(cw: blood, death, guilt/self-loathing, brief mention of vomit)

“I still don’t know how you’re not even shivering.”

Red chuckled lightly from his position next to Jaye. Their shoulders rubbed together in their shared sniper’s nest, sandbags and foliage providing scant protection from the biting wind. She knew she’d have to scoot away once he actually started shooting - couldn’t risk bumping him and throwing off his aim - but for now she stole whatever extra warmth from him that she could.

“I told you to dress accordingly when I described the conditions,” he said.

“We're wearing the same gear.” She flashed him an incredulous look. “Can't you just fake being cold to make me feel better?”

He spared her a brief glance and a smile before turning back to his rifle scope. “We can go over the sectors again if you’re bored.”

Jaye huffed a sigh. “As if we haven’t done that twice already. I’d rather you start quoting Ayn Rand at me again.”

That earned her another chuckle, more playful this time. “What’s the matter, not in the mood to discuss the rousing merits of objectivism?”

A strong gust of wind buffeted the cliffside where they’d set up, and Jaye burrowed deeper into her coat as she pouted.

“Oh, save the sarcasm,” she said. “You hate her philosophy just as much as me. The only reason you brought it up last time was ‘cause you knew it’d make me angry, you dick.”

“You say that as if it’s hard to do.”

She smirked. “Not when you’re involved, it isn’t.”

Taking a lead from Red, Jaye set her eye against her telescope again. The shantytown came into view a kilometer below them, along with the makeshift camp this group of mercenaries had set up. 

Aside from familiarizing herself with the landscape and defining sectors for communication, Jaye usually avoided observing too much before the job started. She noted landmarks and terrain, of course. Watched for anything out-of-the-ordinary. But aside from a cursory scan, she didn’t really need to focus on the targets.

Working as her squad lead’s spotter didn’t offend her as much as it did the first time around - not as much as she thought it would. Same as piloting a mech, the distance provided a certain degree of separation. She kept an eye on the broader picture. Helped Red line up his shots. No emotions necessary. Now, after however many missions together, she found the steps and protocol of the job ritualistic, almost comforting. And if she took her place beside Red, she wouldn't have to worry about finding herself in his crosshairs.

The mercs understood how vulnerable the surrounding cliffs made them to shots from above. They’d planned their hideout accordingly, covering windows and piling barriers to make safe paths between buildings. Jaye noted all of the cautious measures she and Red would have to work around, and she frowned.

“Not a lot of open space here,” she said, still peering through the telescope. “Gonna be hard to get a good bead on them.”

“Not so hard,” Red replied.

Before Jaye could poke fun at his cocky attitude, another voice came in on both of their comms. 

“Position secure. 0-1, 0-2, ready when you are.”

“That was Theo,” Jaye said.

Red nodded and brought a hand to his ear. “Copy, Empress. Keep us posted on any incoming.”

At the all-clear, Jaye inched away from her teammate to assume her position. The wind immediately cut through the space between them, and she tensed at the loss of shared body heat. She covered the eye not pressed to her telescope with her hand.

“Sector three alpha,” she said. “Looks like a good spot to wait for a target to show themself.”

Red shifted next to her to angle his sights where she indicated. After a moment’s pause, he gave a verbal description to make sure they were both looking at the same thing. A gap between two buildings, deceptively exposed and in full view of the rest of the camp. Jaye confirmed.

Red hummed his agreement. “We wait.”

They laid on the ground in silence for the next few minutes, eyes locked on the same opening. It could have been longer; Jaye easily lost track of time on sniper missions, especially when they relied on the target to make the first move. The dusty stone of the cliffside stole warmth from every point of her body that made contact with it, even through her tactical gear. She regretted not putting anything down first before hunkering down.

Movement through her telescope made her snap back to attention. One of the mercenaries stepped into view, ducking into the relative shelter from the wind to light a cigarette.

“Target in range,” she said. “Do you see them?”

Red adjusted his aim. “Contact.”

Jaye led him through the firing sequence. Calibrating his scope. Factoring in wind speed to calculate the angle of the shot. His breath evened out into a hypnotic rhythm, pausing right before he fired. Waiting for her confirmation.

“Go for,” Jaye said.

The gunshot echoed off of the natural walls around them. Jaye watched the delayed hit from her perch a thousand meters away, watched the red mist as the bullet pierced the merc’s body armor, watched as their face twisted and the force of the impact sent them stumbling back. Sound didn’t reach her from this far away, but her brain filled in the strained cry of pain as they collapsed to the ground, still breathing.

Her eyes narrowed. “Miss. You got them in the stomach.”

A toothy click sounded from Red’s rifle as he reloaded, the motions calm and unhurried as anything. “I didn’t miss. Tell me when the others come into view.”

Like a monstrous, poisonous insect, slow horror crept up Jaye's spine as understanding dawned on her. He wanted to draw them out. Use their own teammate as bait and pick them off one by one. Nausea curled in her stomach, and she glanced over at him with unease.

Red never broke focus. He didn't notice or acknowledge the look she gave him, instead keeping his cheek pressed to the stock of his rifle.

“Bluebird. I need your eyes.”

Jaye swallowed hard. She resumed her position and forced herself to look at the dying target again. The man gasped and dug his heel into the ground, his body twisting in pain and blood already pooling underneath him. The encampment bustled with panicked activity, all of them alerted now to the presence of a sniper. A head poked above one of the barriers.

“Target incoming. Two o’clock.”

“Confirmed.”

He made a clean kill with his next shot. And the next one. Jaye watched shot after shot find their mark, one just a meter away from reaching their teammate. The corrective patch fell from their hand unused. 

The hunt stretched out for twenty minutes. A heavy numbness set into Jaye's bones, and she hardly noticed the chill from the wind or the pebbles digging into her ribs anymore. The words to correct and confirm tumbled past her lips without her realizing she'd even said them. Both her and Red tallied the bodies, until none but the first remained.

“That’s nine by my count,” Red said.

Jaye forced a steady exhale through her mouth. “Confirmed.”

“Taking aim on the last target.”

A grip of panic seized her, and before she could think it through, Jaye grabbed his rifle. “Wait- don’t shoot!”

“Bluebird, what are you doing?”

She pushed herself off of the ground and away from her telescope, about to scramble to her feet. “I have correctives in my field kit, I can-”

Red latched onto her arm before she could get up. She froze.

“He’ll have bled out by the time you get there,” he said, ice blue eyes meeting hers. “And if he doesn’t, he will hate you for killing every one of his squadmates, and for making him watch. It doesn��t matter if you pulled the trigger or not. He won’t make that distinction. He will kill you the second he is able, regardless of the medical supplies in your hands. Is his life really worth putting yourself in danger?”

Jaye’s blood ran cold. Red still held her above her elbow, and her hand clenched until her forearm shook. That familiar voice screamed at her from the back of her mind, warnings from her captain and her family that sent revulsion prickling down her arms and spine. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and the voice screeched loud enough to echo inside her skull. Are you sure you know when it’s just him talking?

Her words came out thick. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Red blinked at her, his cold gaze impassive. He didn’t react to the horror on her face she knew she couldn’t hide.

“Kindness and mercy aren’t always the same thing,” he said. “You told me that, once.”

Jaye clenched her jaw. Every second she stood here was another second she wasn’t helping - but she knew she couldn’t argue with Red. As soon as she’d seen the man through her binoculars, she’d signed off on his death. She’d made her decision the second she hesitated. Her pulse squeezed in her neck hard enough to make her choke. 

“Take the shot,” she said.

Red held her gaze for a second or two, but when she didn’t move, he let go of her arm and settled back into position. She watched him fall into the practiced routine of aiming his rifle, running through the checks and bringing his eye back to the scope.

She snapped back to herself and lowered herself to her telescope. She still had a job to do. The encampment came back into view, and she scanned the ground for her target. Her skin burned under her gear where Red had touched her, but she tried to ignore it. 

The mercenary lay where she last saw him, sprawled out in mud made from his own blood. His chest still rose and fell, uneven and shallow. She avoided bringing the crimson mess of his abdomen into focus.

“I’ve got sights,” she said. “Go for.”

Red set up his shot. He fired. The bullet hit a few seconds later, the mercenary’s body jerked with the impact. Jaye could almost hear the snip of scissor blades as they cut the tether binding his life to this plane. She refused to flinch. She waited until she didn’t see his chest rise again before pulling away.

“Confirmed.”

Red nodded and pulled back as well. Another successful mission. 

They packed their equipment in silence, Red pulling apart the pieces of his rifle with as much precision and care as when he set it up. Jaye shoved her telescope and tripod into her bag and swallowed against a lump in her throat. Who gave her the right to feel this guilt? Did it really take the suffering of another person for her to regret?

Her mother’s gun she kept on her hip didn’t offer a kinder death than Red’s. A shot fired in anger or passion killed just as bitterly as one fired with indifference. Neither one would have comforted that mercenary as he lay dying. How could she ever think herself better than Red, just because she had a cause? How dare she?

Red sent out a message to global comms to let the rest of their squad know they’d finished the job. He and Jaye picked their way back down the cliffside, taking a different route than the way they’d come. Jaye’s thoughts tumbled around each other the whole way down, pressing against the inside of her head. After a few minutes, she couldn't ignore the nausea churning in her stomach. She fell to her hands and knees to be sick in the grass.

Red stopped beside her and passed down a canteen without saying anything. She rinsed the taste of bile out of her mouth and spat it out, then threw her head back for one long gulp. She drank until the breath stopped shaking in her lungs, then took another swig for good measure.

When a hand rested tentatively on her shoulder, Jaye flinched away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Red pulled away, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him fold his arms and turn away to give her space. Good. She’d hate herself until it made her sick, but she’d sooner snap her own fingers before she let him see it. She allowed herself a few seconds to get a grip, then dragged herself to her feet. She wordlessly passed him back the canteen.

Red clipped it to his belt and offered her a quiet, searching gaze. Jaye ignored him by reaching behind her head to adjust the bandana covering her hair.

“This…what you’re feeling,” he said. “There’s no shame in it, Bluebird. Don’t ever be ashamed of compassion.”

She rolled her shoulders and winced at the stiffness in her muscles. She still didn’t look at him. “Save it for debrief.”

Red simply nodded, and took the lead down the rocky path. They continued without another word.

[moonlight-at-dawn]

I'm just gonna post this one here straight up. It'll make it to AO3 eventually, but it's short so hey.

Shionne freaks out when a bug lands on her, and Alphen is Suffering.

----

Water lapped gently against the wall of the basin as Alphen soaked his sore muscles. He reveled in the sensations, both the fatigue of a good day’s work, and the heat of the water working to relax him. There was no point in using up magical energy on a healing when a nice bath would often do the trick. His head lolled back over the edge and he breathed in deep the steam coming up from around him. He hummed in contentment, eyes gently closed, arms out to either side to hook elbows on the basin to keep him from sinking down.

A piercing scream broke the peaceful moment.

“Shionne!” he gasped, leaping out of the tub and slipping on tiled floor, barely keeping his balance. He grabbed his sword from where it hung on the bedroom wall and barrelled out to the kitchen where the scream had come from. “Shionne, what is it!?”

She had her gun out, and he looked to where the barrel was pointed, seeing… Nothing? It was aimed very deliberately at the ground, but he wasn’t sure he saw the threat. “Sh-Shionne…?” he gasped, asking again, hoping for some kind of answer.

When she looked up from her rifle, her eyes were wide and teary, and she let the gun disappear back into its astral pocket. “Alphen…!” she cried out in a voice that reminded him of painful moments. Her hand wiped subconsciously at her arm, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “It, it landed on me, Alphen…!”

“It…?”

“A bug! A big, hideous bug! Some kind of beetle! It was so big, and heavy, and it landed right on me! I thought my heart was going to explode! I swatted at it, but it got away! I never thought I’d miss the thorns, but I never had to deal with bugs like that before!”

She sounded so distraught, crying, and he stood there, soaking wet and naked, dripping bathwater on the kitchen floor, sword in hand. He didn’t know what to do or to say.

Did he hug her? No, that would get her wet, and she’d be angry.

Did he laugh? No, absolutely not, that would get him shot.

What was the right answer?

“I’m… sorry?” he tendered, bewildered.

“Find it and kill it!”

“Can, can I just, put it outside where it belongs, if I find it?”

“Fine, just so long as it’s gone!”

“Alright. But, uh, Shionne?”

“What!?”

“Can I… get dressed first?”

She looked up from her hands that covered her face and took in the sight of him like that. A tear still rolling down her cheek, she suddenly burst into laughter, covering her face again. “I’m sorry, Alphen! I didn’t realize, I didn’t mean to scare you like that…! Go, go finish up your bath, and maybe we’ll be lucky and that damn thing will have left on its own by the time you get back.”

He sighed with relief and nodded, grinning at her. “Thanks. I’ll try not to take too long.”

“And I’ll try not to scream and shoot at any more insects. At least, ones that aren’t zeugles.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Red-Handed, Chapter 26

Chapter rating: x | Joint work with @xfmaweezy | Read it here on AO3

“Oh, Jesus,” Scully says sharply under her breath, and Mulder glances over at her. 

“What?” he asks. 

They’re walking the fifty yards between his car and the crime scene, and she’s looking past the yellow tape like what lies on the other side is especially jarring, though so far as he can tell it’s mild compared to many of the murders they’ve witnessed the aftermath of. 

“The forensic photographer,” she says quietly, slowing her pace. “I, um…I know him. Or used to, a long time ago.”

Mulder slows down to match her, giving her curious glances. 

“The Academy?” he asks, and she shakes her head, avoiding his eye. “Oh, you know him?” he clarifies, smiling. “Are we talking biblically here, Scully?”

One sideways glance is all she offers in confirmation. 

“It was a long time ago, Mulder,” she emphasizes. 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he insists. “We both know I had my fair share of dalliances in my early days with the Bureau.” They are just a stone’s throw from the yellow tape when he touches her arm to get her attention. “Anything worth writing home about?” he asks with a lift of his chin towards the photographer, who is crouched over the victim snapping pictures. 

Scully heaves a sigh. 

“The only complimentary thing I can say about it is that it was over quickly,” she offers, throwing him a dry smile. 

His laugh is cut short by the lead detective approaching with an outstretched hand. 

“Thanks for coming out,” he says stoically. “We’ve never quite seen something like this and my partner suggested we call you. Just as soon as Jerry’s done here you can have a look.”

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Jerry says, still hunkered down with his camera pressed to his eye. “I’m pretty fast.”

“So I hear,” Mulder quips, and Scully shoots him a look. 

The man looks up, revealing a boyishly handsome face framed by loose blond curls. Mulder was hoping he’d be uglier. He nods at Mulder and then looks over to Scully, his eyes narrowing. 

“Dana?” he asks, a smile slowly stretching the corners of his mouth. 

“Hi, Jerry,” she says with a thin smile that Mulder knows to be fake. “Good to see you.”

Jerry stands and steps over the body, coming to a stop just in front of Scully. He openly gives her a once over, his eyes scraping from her head to her feet and back up. 

“You look great,” he says, far too flirtatiously, and Mulder has to remind himself that to everyone else, he is just her coworker. 

“Jerry, this is my partner, Fox Mulder,” she says, and Mulder sticks out his hand before Jerry has a chance to. He squeezes too tightly, pumps his arm too hard, and Jerry gives Scully a look that feels too personal. Too familiar. 

“Hey, we should catch up sometime,” Jerry says to Scully, moving to the side in an attempt to corral their conversation away from Mulder’s ears. 

“Uh, sure,” Scully says noncommittally. “I’m pretty busy, but we can try.”

“You about done here, Speed Racer?” Mulder interjects, and both Scully and Jerry give him a quizzical look. “With the crime scene. I’d like to get started.”

“Uh, sure. Let me just grab a few more shots,” Jerry says, resuming his position standing over the corpse. “We’ll talk later, Dana,” he adds, and while he does not physically wink, Mulder infers that a wink was implied. 

-

“I don’t know, Mulder, it all looks pretty banal to me,” Scully comments blandly as she examines a collection of McDonald’s Happy Meal toys displayed on top of the victim’s dresser. “Laid out in their front yard, just like the others. I’m not sure what you were expecting to find here.”

She hears a mechanical tick and turns to see him pulling his hand away from the doorknob, which he has just locked. She raises her eyebrows in question, but he just begins to walk the perimeter of the room, not offering an explanation. 

“So, Jerry,” he says absently, rifling through a stack of papers on the victim’s desk. “Was that a casual thing, or a boyfriend thing?”

She quirks her head at him, surprised. She knows he’s prone to a bit of possessiveness, but jealousy towards someone she slept with years before she even met him, much less fell in love with him, seems a bit out of character. 

“It was more of a ‘just broke up with my boyfriend and moved across the country’ thing,” she says to his back. “We went out a couple times, but the sex was an isolated incident, and not one I felt inclined to repeat. Why?”

He shrugs, continuing his tour of years of accumulated clutter. She remains in place in front of the window, waiting until he has no choice but to turn around and go back the other way, or look at her. He raises his head slowly, but instead of the insecure, petulant look she’s expecting to find on his face, he looks downright haughty. 

“So the sex we have is better?” he asks glibly, and she tucks her chin, looking around the room as though to verify that no one else is there. 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asks, crossing her arms. 

He steps around her, presumably to continue taking inventory of the room, but then she feels the heat of his chest against her back. She stiffens and waits, cautiously curious. 

“No,” he says softly, his hands sliding over her hips. “I’d hate to be presumptuous.”

Her eyes flash to the door.

“What are you doing?” she whispers as his fingers find the clasp on her slacks and discreetly unhook it. She uncrosses her arms, laying her hands over the top of his to still them. 

He stoops a little, and his breath hot on her ear sends a little shiver through her. 

“I guess I’m just wondering,” he says, snaking one hand under her slacks and forcing the zipper down with the back of it, “what you’ll have to say about me in ten years.”

She should push him away, but she doesn’t. She lets him wriggle his hand down until his middle finger slips between her legs, sending an unexpected shock of arousal through her pelvis. Maybe his jealousy does something for her that she isn’t even aware of. His free arm loops around her rib cage, holding her steady against him. 

“Mulder,” she says tightly, ready to object. But his finger slides back, gathering moisture, and then loops up over her clit, and she feels her resolve melting as she leans into him, her legs going slack. 

He knows her so well—too well, perhaps. Better even than she knows herself, which is terrifying and exciting all at once. His touch is light, his cadence consistent, the vibration of his voice against her back just comforting enough that she allows it to happen. And it doesn’t take long at all, which is a surprise to her each and every time. 

“Mulder,” she says again, this time high and breathy. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he whispers, pressing his finger firmly against her clit as it begins to throb. 

She bites her lip, tiny whimpers relegated to the back of her throat. 

Abruptly, he pulls his arm free and points at a spot on the window pane. 

“Act natural,” he says in a neutral tone, then points to another spot and steps away from her. 

She blinks, dazed, and her eyes slowly come into focus on a figure outside the window. Jerry. He’s holding his camera, watching her with a curious expression. A rush of adrenaline makes her ears ring, and she feels her cheeks warm. The window sill hits at her waist, so he wouldn’t have been able to see everything, but certainly he saw something. She smiles thinly and waves, then turns away and buttons her slacks, giving Mulder an unamused glare. 

-

Mulder runs his middle finger across his bottom lip while he waits for her in the car. It had been a risky move, sure, but she seemed into it. He hopes that she isn’t upset with him.

“...sure you’re feeling alright?” he catches Jerry saying, and he keeps his eyes on the steering wheel, his ears straining. “It looked like you just about passed out in there.”

“I’m fine, I just got a bit lightheaded for a moment,” Scully replies. 

“Okay. Well, maybe we could do dinner sometime, or even just coffee?”

“It was good to see you, Jerry,” Scully says, her tone placating. “But I think I’m going to have to pass on your invitation. I’m actually seeing someone, and I’d hate to mislead you.”

Mulder bites his lip to suppress a smile, wishing he could see Jerry’s face right now. 

“Oh, okay,” Jerry says, disappointment clear in his voice. “Well, maybe we’ll cross paths again,” he says hopefully. 

“Maybe,” Scully agrees. 

She slides into the passenger seat and he looks over at her expectantly, though he can’t rightfully say what it is that he’s expecting. 

“Ready?” she asks, and he turns the key in the ignition. 

“Ready for what?” he asks. 

“I thought you were taking me to dinner,” she says with a smirk. 

He considers her for a moment, a warm, satisfied feeling blossoming in his belly. 

“I think that’s the least I can do,” he says as he puts the car in gear and pulls away from the crime scene. 

She waits until they’re a few blocks away before she reaches over the console and grabs his hand. 

tagging @today-in-fic

[can-of-pringles]

Playing with Fire - Chapter 5

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1k

Also Read on AO3

They all boarded the ship. Eliška spotted Peter and grabbed all the money she’d stolen, handing it to him. “I promised I’d get you and your group payment.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank you…”

Next, she looked at Gamora, slightly bowing her head. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot before, but I’ll help you in any way you need… well, almost any way.” She looked down at her gloved hands.

Gamora kept her arms crossed but hummed in consideration. “Can you fight?”

“Yes.” Eliška nodded. “Well, I can shoot.”

“Hopefully space guns aren’t too different from a rifle…” She thought.

“You’ll have to do. We need all the help we can get. Head to Drax, he’ll give you weapons.”

“Hey, Russian girl, thanks for helping us,” Peter mentioned.

She felt her annoyance grow. She took a deep breath, regaining her cool. “It’s Eliška Hašek, and I’m Czech, not Russian.”

“Oh… is that in Russia…?” He hesitated.

Eliška groaned and walked away, planning on finding Drax.

Gamora looked at him, raising a brow in confusion.

“It’s a Terran thing…” He muttered.

---

Eliška turned down the hall, finding Drax in some sort of weapons room. She walked over and introduced herself.

“Hi, Gamora told me to find you. She said you’d be able to assign me a weapon? To help you all fight.” She explained.

“What are you particularly skilled at?” He asked.

She paused, thinking it over. “I can manage a gun alright. But nothing too complex…” She scratched the back of her head anxiously.

Drax searched through the gun storage. The gang was grateful that the Ravagers were allowing them to potentially borrow weapons, as long as they got something in return. After a while of searching, he found something.

“Here, this should work.” He tossed her the gun and luckily, she caught it.

Eliška examined it, trying to get a feel for the firearm. It was sleeker than most of the other weapons but had a nice weight in her hands. It didn’t seem too far off from her father’s old hunting rifles. After she looked it over, she used the strap it came with and slung it over her back.

“Thank you,” she said.

Drax nodded, turning to sit and polish his blades for a moment before they all had to meet up. Eliška fidgeted with her gloves, looking down at them.

“By the way…” She spoke up.

He looked up at her.

“I just wanted to mention that I’m sorry Rocket said that earlier… about your family…” She spoke in a quiet tone.

After a bit, he nodded. “You are much kinder than him, small red-haired girl.”

A small smile formed on her face. She gave him one last quick nod before she left.

---

After a while of generally recovering, the gang met up, coming together to form a plan. Rocket sat on a crate; arguing with the gang. Opposite of him, Eliška leaned against one of the support beams, crossing her arms.

“You call that ‘figured it out’? We’re gonna rob the guys who just beat us senseless.”

“Oh, you want to talk about senseless? How about trying to save us by blowing us up?” Peter pointed out.

“We were only gonna blow you up if they didn’t turn you over!”

Eliška rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Rocket didn’t let her have much of a say when they were all in the Milano trying to rescue Peter and Gamora. She still couldn’t believe sometimes that they let the trigger-happy raccoon fly their ship, but what did she know? She couldn’t ignore how out of-depth she felt.

“And how on Earth were they gonna turn us over when you only gave them a count of five?”

“We didn’t have time to work out the minutiae of the plan.” He looked at Groot. “This is what we get for acting altruistically.”

“I am Groot.”

“They are ungrateful.” Rocket nodded.

“What’s important now is we get the Ravagers’ army to help us save Xandar,” Gamora spoke up.

“So we can give the Stone to Yondu, who’s just gonna sell to somebody even worse?”

“We’ll figure that part out later,” Peter added.

“We have to stop Ronan,” she said.

“How?” Rocket asked.

“I have a plan,” Peter replied.

“You’ve got a plan?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yes.”

“First of all, you’re copying me from when I said I had a plan.” Rocket stated.

“No, I’m not. People say that all the time. It’s not that unique of a thing to say.” Peter defended.

“Secondly, I don’t even believe you have a plan.” Rocket crossed his arms.

“I have part of a plan!”

“Banda idiotů…” Eliška muttered under her breath.

“What percentage of a plan do you have?” Drax commented.

“You don’t get to ask questions after the nonsense you pulled on Knowhere.” Gamora pointed at him.

“I just saved Quill.” He sounded offended.

“We’ve already established that you destroying the ship that I’m on is not saving me,” Peter said.

“When did we establish it?”

“Like three seconds ago!”

“I wasn’t listening. I was thinking of something else.” Drax muttered.

Gamora scoffed in annoyance and turned away.

Rocket pointed at Drax for a second. “She’s right. You don’t get an opinion. What percentage?” He focused his attention back on Peter.

“I don’t know. Twelve percent.”

“Twelve percent?”

He laughed heartily, going on for a while. Eliška’s eyes widened in surprise. Gamora sat back down, tired from dealing with them.

“That’s a fake laugh.”

“It’s real!” Rocket insisted.

“Totally fake.” Peter continued.

“That is the most real, authentic, hysterical laugh of my entire life because that is not a plan.”

“It’s barely a concept.” Gamora agreed.

“You’re taking their side?” Peter questioned.

“I am Groot.”

“So what, it’s better than eleven percent? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Thank you, Groot. Thank you.” Peter gave him a pat on the arm. Groot smiled.

“See? Groot’s the only one of you who has a clue.”

Groot became distracted by a leaf on his shoulder, trying to eat it. Everyone stared in disbelief as he continued chomping on the leaf. Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Rocket scoffed.

“Guys. Come on. Yondu is gonna be here in two seconds. He expects to hear this big plan of ours.” Peter lowered his voice. “I need your help.”

Gamora looked at him.

Peter took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts and rally them the best he knew how.

“I look around at us. You know what I see? Losers.” He slightly nodded.

Drax gave him a look. Rocket tilted his head. Both he and Gamora glanced at each other. Eliška raised a brow.

“I mean, like, folks who have lost stuff.” He clarified. “And we have. Man, we have. All of us.” He gave Eliška a brief glance. She looked up, surprised for a moment that he even included her.

Gamora looked at him again.

“Our homes, our families, normal lives.”

Drax glanced down.

“And, usually, life takes more than it gives. But not today. Today it’s given us something. It has given us a chance.”

“To do what?” Drax asked, looking at him.

“To give a shit. For once. Not run away,” he spoke earnestly. “I, for one, am not gonna stand by and watch as Ronan wipes out billions of innocent lives.”

Rocket kept his eyes trained on the floor with a defeated expression on his face. “But, Quill, stopping Ronan, it’s impossible.” He looked up at him. “You’re asking us to die.”

Peter remained silent for a moment, sighing. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He murmured.

He shook his head, stammered, and turned away, pacing slightly. Everyone kept their gaze down, upset by the current situation and the hopelessness of it.

“Quill,” Gamora said, looking up at him. He turned around to face her. “I have lived most my life surrounded by my enemies.”

Groot and Rocket looked at her. She stood up. “I will be grateful to die among my friends.”

Drax stood up as well. “You are an honorable man, Quill. I will fight beside you. And in the end, I will see my wife and daughter again.” He smiled.

Groot followed, also standing up. “I am Groot.”

Eliška bit her lip, wondering if she should even speak up. After a second, she stopped leaning, walking toward them. She glanced down at her hands before she looked back up. “If I am going to die… I’ll die a free woman.”

Rocket looked at Groot in disbelief. He looked around at the gang, sighing. “Oh, what the hell. I don’t got that long a lifespan, anyway.” He stood up on the crate. “Now I’m standing. Y’all happy?” He crossed his arms. “We’re all standing up now. Bunch of jackasses, standing in a circle.”

[lady-assnali]

WIP Wednesday 🎃 The girls that get it get it

It’s a little cloth pumpkin basket, and it’s filled to the brim with what seems to be all kinds of silly Halloween themed trinkets. There’s a pair of fuzzy pumpkin socks, a little mug shaped like a ghost, and a DVD with all three Halloween Town movies on it alongside some other smaller trinkets.

“It’s October first.” Rosé shoots her a crooked smile, looking through the basket with appreciation. She’s immediately thankful that Denali understands her humor, or else she’s afraid her word vomit may have made her appear ungrateful.

“Yes, and you’re lucky I waited this long to give this to you.” She shoots back. She watches Rosé sift through the basket, delighted, and watches her brow lift in curiosity at the bag of pumpkin and bat shaped pasta she’d thrown in.

“That’s a gift for me, too.” Denali rifles through the basket herself and pulls out a magazine cutout of a bottle of red wine. She flashes it to the redhead triumphantly. “This is also waiting for us to share. You can come over, I’ll cook and we can watch Halloween Town? Or another movie if you want, but I think it probably has to be Halloween Town, it’s not Halloween season without it.”

“I’m definitely down for that.”

“Okay, good. Because your basket would have been revoked if you said no. And then I’d be all alone with my wine and my bat pasta in this new city on my first Halloween…”

“I already said yes, stupid. You can’t guilt trip me into doing something I already want to do

[burnwater13]

Peli Motto firing a blaster rifle at the Scorpenek annihilator droids on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor. Calendar from DataWorks.

Grogu had never realized how fierce Peli Motto was until he returned to Tatooine to find the Mandalorian. Luke’s Jedi Sleep Away Camp hadn’t been as much fun as advertised and Grogu realized that he missed the bounty hunter and his friends more than he had missed working with the Force. Peli was one of those people he really missed. 

She was always happy to see him. She made sure that he was clean and fed. She told him stories and let him play games with the pit droids. She even taught him how to cheat at… uh… play Sabacc. But his favorite memory wasn’t the one where she was shooting at the Scorpenek annihilator droids to help protect his dad and everyone else. Nope. His favorite memory was her roasting that huge haunch of Krayt dragon his dad had brought her. That seemed like forever ago.

He was explaining that all to Jon, once they were done at the privies and had finished showing him the N-1. To say the big man was impressed was an understatement. Grogu thought he was going to faint once his dad showed Jon some of the starship’s features, using R5 to demonstrate the hover mode, among other things. Jon needed to sit down and catch his breath, so they walked down the pier to the wooden benches that gave people a place to rest.

“So, tell me more about this Peli Motto character. What does he actually do?”

“She. She’s a mechanic. And a bit of a scoundrel. Whatever you do, don’t play Sabacc with her. She’ll spend your money and walk away with the winnings. But she loves Grogu and that counts for a lot.”

“It should. Our children are our future. Full of wonder. It’s why I do what I do.”

“What do?” Grogu asked. They’d talked about food and Earth and of course Nevarro and the ship, but they hadn’t talked to Jon about what he did. 

“I tell stories. Sometimes I write them. Other times I bring them to life. I’m a producer.”

Grogu exchanged a look with his dad. The only producers they knew managed a grain facility that made components of ration packs. What the heck did that have to do with storytelling?

“I don’t think we understand your term. Producers make things, like powdered grain for protein bars.”

Grogu was glad his dad had clarified it. Gal Basic was a slippery language at best and some words meant complete different concepts depending on the planet or system you visited. For example on Tzura ‘pair’ was a fruit, while everywhere else it meant two of a thing. Slippery. 

“Okay. Hmmm. I make films. You know, videos, moving pictures…”

Vids! Sure. That sounded good.

“Anything we may have heard of? Grogu is a big fan of the Diggle and Daggle series.”

“Diggle and Daggle?” 

Jon seemed baffled. Grogu was baffled. How could he not know about Diggle and Daggle? They were the most famous vids across the galaxy!

“Fish that fish.” Grogu explained.

“You watch videos of fish fishing?”

Jon definitely seemed surprised at that. 

“Educational.” Grogu explained briefly.

“Grogu can play one for you. He loves them.”

“That’s okay. I trust you. I make videos, but they are stories about love and growth and redemption. I’d be happy to show you some of them.”

Before the Mandalorian could say ‘no’, his favorite word, Grogu jumped off the bench yelling ‘Yippee’, his favorite word. 

“I guess that’s a yes. Do you have a data pad?”

Grogu’s dad must have realized that resistance was futile. They were on vacation after all. 

“No, but I have a friend who has a ranch.”

“Sounds good. If you have the coordinates, we can meet you there.”

“Give me a minute.”

Jon pulled some small device out of his pocket and began to fuss with it, while Grogu dashed over to his dad and hugged the Mandalorian’s boot. 

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, you know what Peli always says, don’t look a gift fathier in the muzzle. This planet’s kind of nice. I figure we can spend a couple more days here before we have to head home.”

“This is the Way”

“This is the Way”